


Remedium

by akh, everytimeyougo



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-02-03 16:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 52,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12752349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akh/pseuds/akh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/everytimeyougo/pseuds/everytimeyougo
Summary: "Do you think this could be...Earth?"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ...aka the story of how Mulder  & Scully met Roslin & Adama.
> 
> We're still working on finalising the later chapters but the whole story is basically written, so updates will be regular. We hope you all enjoy!

“Shut up, Mulder. I’m playing baseball.”

It’s a rare moment of fun and relaxation for the two FBI agents as they continue their hitting streak, whacking baseball after baseball towards the stars they spend so much of their time contemplating. 

Or, well. At least one of them does.

Even with Mulder’s assistance, Scully is breathing heavily from the effort of swinging the bat by the time the kid runs out of balls to pitch to them. He lifts one eyebrow at Mulder before turning away, and in the time it takes Scully to blink, he’s gone.

“A little breathless there, Scully,” Mulder remarks, his own breath warm against her ear. 

Their four hands combined still hold the bat aloft in front of her. She releases her grip, her hands falling to her hips. “That bat is heavy,” she asserts, ignoring any other possible cause, such as the warm, lean form of her partner, still pressed up against her back. She ducks under his arms and puts a bit of distance between them. 

Mulder’s lopsided grin tells her he isn’t fooled. She shakes her head, pressing her lips together to contain her own answering smile. It had been nice of him to invite her down here. She had intended to spend the night of her birthday catching up on paperwork, but this has been better. She finds she’s reluctant to let it end. She opens her mouth to suggest a drink, but when she looks up, she finds she no longer has his attention. Instead, Mulder is staring up at the sky behind her, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“Mulder? What is it?” She turns around to see what he’s gaping at, and her eyes narrow in confusion.

”Mulder?” she repeats her question, a little uncertainly. “What are you looking at?”

“Well...” Mulder gives her that look, one she has seen countless of times before - smug, yet somehow charming. “A flying object that we can’t identify, Scully," he prompts her. "I believe the more commonly used term for that is…”

Scully rolls her eyes while Mulder pauses for effect.

“I didn’t see anything,” she huffs before he can finish. Why can he never just be normal? “It’s dark and we’ve been looking at stars too long. Probably another falling star.”

“No, this was different,” Mulder insists. “The colour of the light, the angle. This was something else.”

“A plane then,” she counters. “It was probably an aircraft of some kind, maybe military.”

“Not like anything I've seen before." Mulder takes a few steps in the direction they had been looking and then pauses to look back at Scully, tilting his head as an invitation. "Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

Scully sighs, her hopes of a drink and a quiet night suddenly evaporating. Whatever it is he has seen, there are two things she knows for certain: she can’t stop Mulder from running after it to investigate, and she can’t let him do so alone.

***

Some time later, in the middle of wide swath of wilderness just outside the city limits, a young blonde woman removes her restraints and leans forward in her seat, as if those few additional inches might transform the incredible sight before her into something less unexpected.

She turns to her companion. “I thought Gaeta said this planet was inhabited. These readings…” she checks the instrumentation in front of her again, “...are not of an uninhabited planet, Lee.”

Lee Adama stares out the viewscreen at the surrounding trees, tall evergreens that obscure their view of anything but dark, deep forest. As far as he can tell, they’re completely alone. But she’s right, there’s no mistaking the readings.

_Frak._

“Get us out of here, Starbuck,” he orders suddenly, ducking back into the rear of the ship. “The inhabitants of this planet could be hostile. We need to get off the surface before anyone sees us.”

“Ahh, Lee?” Kara’s voice holds a note of anxiety, hidden just beneath her usual veneer of bravado. “Too late. Look.”

Lee looks up to see Kara pointing at two blips on the screen in front of her. They flash ominously red, unmistakably moving closer.

He stares for a moment, every instinct telling him to take off immediately, and yet too transfixed by what he's seeing to take any action. A sideways glance towards his co-pilot tells him she's thinking the same.

In unison, they raise their heads, just in time to see a tall man in a white shirt emerge from the tree line. He sees them and stops, raising his hand to shield his eyes from their running lights, before striding forward again. 

As they watch in silence a woman, much shorter with red hair, appears just behind him. She says something to the man, who then stops and waits for her to reach him.

"T-they look like us," Kara breathes, giving voice to the thought on both of their minds. "What even _is_ this planet?" She pauses, glancing at the pair outside. They seem to be having words still some distance away from their Raptor.

"Do you think this could be..." Kara lowers her voice, leaning a little closer to Lee. "Do you think this could be... _Earth_?" The last word comes out as barely a whisper.

Lee glances at Kara again, uncertainty flickering in his mind for a moment. He can't deny the thought hasn't crossed his mind as well.

He clenches his jaw, trying to weigh in all the possibilities. There is at least one other alternative that readily comes to his mind.

"They could be Cylons," he points out flatly. "This could be their home planet."

It cannot be Earth.

Kara opens her mouth as to argue, but Lee has seen enough.

"We should leave, now," he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. "At least observe from a greater distance. Let Gaeta run more tests. Report back to the Admiral."

***

“Mulder, are you insane?” Scully demands, trying to catch her breath for the second time that evening.

“Quite possibly, Scully,” he says, eyes still fixed on the small craft, “but not about this. I’m telling you, _that_ is not a military aircraft. Look at those thrusters; no ship that only flies in the earth’s atmosphere would ever have anything like that.”

“Really Mulder, you’re an aeronautical engineer now?”

“I...watch Star Trek.” He turns back to look at her. “Look, Scully, I’ve studied this stuff for decades. I’m not an engineer, no, but I know a hell of a lot more than most people about flying objects, and that is not one of ours. The technology isn’t even close.”

Mulder’s mouth continues to move, but whatever point he is making is lost in the sudden roar coming from the ship still thirty yards away as it suddenly rises up from the ground. When he sees it, Mulder takes off towards it at a dead run.

“Wait!” he yells waving his arms, but it’s no use. The strange craft, moving more quickly than any plane Scully has ever seen, disappears from sight in seconds.

“Damn it!” Mulder curses, whipping back around to face Scully. “Did you see that? Still think that thing is from around here?”

“I did,” Scully confirms. “And I do. You know as well as I do that the military is always working on new technology. That thing must have been some kind of high-speed war plane.”

“Why would the military land a secret war plane in the middle of a forest, Scully? We’re nowhere near to any known military base.”

“I don’t know; maybe they had engine trouble?” They certainly hadn’t seemed to be by the way they took off, but it was possible. Certainly more possible than what Mulder has in mind.

Mulder, however, simply gives her a look that tells her she might as well be trying to convince pigs to have a go at flying.

"That engine didn't look very troubled to me," he points out. "Did you see the speed at which it took off?"

Scully sighs. She can't deny that he has a point. "Trouble with the navigation systems then?" she suggests feebly. "It would explain the unusual landing spot. But either way..." She pauses, allowing her voice to soften a little as her fingers briefly brush his arm. "Mulder, whatever it was, it's gone. We can't catch it."

For a moment Mulder looks deflated, gazing up at the sky where the aircraft seems to have disappeared, its lights lost somewhere in the sea of stars above them.

Scully lets him have his moment and then brings her hand up to touch his arm again. "Come on. There's nothing for us here."

Mulder turns reluctantly to look down at his partner. He looks almost ready to go when suddenly another thought seems to strike him. "What if it comes back?" he asks. "What if more of them come back? A single spacecraft could have been a scouting mission."

"Mulder, it wasn't a - " Scully pauses, realising the argument is futile. "Look, whatever it was and on whatever mission, it seemed to leave pretty quickly after we showed up. I doubt it will come back as long as we're here."

“Not as long as we’re _here_ ,” Mulder repeats, looking thoughtful. “Scully, you’re brilliant!” Without another word of explanation, he strides off in the direction of their car.

“I’m glad you’re finally recognising that,” Scully says to no one, before heaving a huge sigh and trailing after her partner.

***

“Inhabited,” Felix Gaeta repeats to himself under his breath as his hands fly across his instrumentation. “Frak _me_.”

Admiral William Adama cuts his eyes to his agitated crewman. It’s not like Gaeta to miss something this big, but he’ll hold his tongue until the lieutenant reruns his scans and figures out where he went wrong. In the meantime, they’ve got bigger problems. He crosses the deck to join Lee and Kara where they are repeating their report for President Roslin, who has just joined them, summoned from Colonial One by the Admiral as soon as he heard his pilots’ astonishing report.

“A city?” Laura asks Lee and Kara doubtfully. “A modern city?”

“If I didn’t know it had been blasted into oblivion, I might have thought it was Caprica City,” Lee confirms. “Skyscrapers, power lines, cars, everything you would expect to see in your average Colonial city. We saw it as clear as day after we flew out of the forest.”

“Incredible,” Laura breathes.

“And that’s not all,” the Admiral advises, coming up to stand beside the President. “Tell her, Kara.”

“There were people there, ma’am,” Starbuck says. “People that looked just like us.”

Laura’s eyes fly briefly to Bill’s, reading the astonishment on his usually stoic face.

“Like…us?” she repeats, turning to face Kara again, looking at her over the rims of her glasses and then removing the spectacles entirely. “Do you mean they look humanoid?”

Kara shakes her head firmly.

“No, Madam President,” she replies. “I mean they look _exactly_ like us. You could not tell the difference between them and us any more than we can tell the difference between us and Cylons.”

Laura lets out a breath she has held for a moment, leaning against one of the bleeping control boards of the CIC, a sudden wave of weakness washing over her. She glances at Bill again, waiting for him to say what she knows they are both thinking.

He looks at her for a moment, concern written in his eyes, an eyebrow rising in a quiet question, as silent communication passes between them. She holds his gaze for a moment and then shakes her head. He lets his eyes rest on her a moment longer and then finally straightens his back, his eyes travelling from Laura to Lee to Starbuck.

“Did you recognize any known Cylon models?” he asks at last, breaking the silence that has fallen in the room.

It’s Lee’s turn to speak up. “No sir,” he replies. “We saw two…” He hesitates a moment, searching for the right word. “…two…people, I suppose,” he settles reluctantly on a word usually reserved for Colonials. “One seemed to be male, the other female. The male was tall and had dark hair, the female was much shorter and had red hair.”

“Sir…” Kara cuts in. “With respect, Sir, I don’t believe they were Cylons.”

Bill and Laura exchange another look and with the Admiral’s unspoken agreement, Laura steps away from the console and resumes her questioning. “What makes you say that, Lieutenant?”

Kara pauses, visibly weighing her words, before continuing. “Back on Caprica, ma’am, when I was on the run with Helo, there were times when we were able to observe the Cylons without them knowing. I saw how they interact with each other when they’re alone, when they aren’t trying to imitate human behaviour in order to manipulate us. They’re very formal with each other, very...flat. Emotionless. These people weren’t like that.”

Laura nods along, understanding. She had witnessed similar things on New Caprica from her captors, when they spoke to each other in between...interrogations. “How did these people act?”

“They were excited...or agitated. The man was coming towards us and the woman seemed to be trying to stop him. She called to him and he stopped and waited for her to catch up to him, and then they engaged in conversation. I think they were disagreeing about us. We didn’t wait around for them to come to an agreement, but ma’am, they were definitely not emotionless. There was a lot of pointing and gesturing.”

Laura turns to Lee. “Do you agree with the Lieutenant, Major?” 

“I do so far as what she observed, Madam President, but I think it would be a mistake to discount the possibility that what we saw was an act for our benefit,” Apollo says. “I think extreme caution is warranted. We don't know who or what those people are.”

Laura nods and turns to Bill again.

“I believe Major Adama is right,” she says, her words directed now mainly at the Admiral. “Lieutenant Thrace could also be right, but we need more intelligence and we must tread very carefully to obtain it.”

“We need another recon mission,” Bill agrees, lifting his eyes to scan the DRADIS readings in front of him. No sign of any vessels, Cylon or alien, anywhere nearby. “Lieutenant Gaeta,” he says suddenly.

The young officer immediately stands to attention.

“Yes, sir?”

“Is it possible to fine tune our radar systems to detect smaller objects orbiting the planet?” he asks, eyes still fixed on the screen. 

“I – I believe so, sir,” Gaeta responds a little uncertainly. “But we might need to move closer to get more accurate readings and that will cause a greater risk of being detected.”

When Bill glances at Laura, he finds her shaking her head. He mirrors her movement.

“No, Lieutenant,” he replies. “If this is an advanced society, as Starbuck and Apollo say, these people could have satellites on the orbit, but to find that out is not worth risking the fleet. In fact, we’re already closer than we should be, given this new intelligence. We will pull back behind the orbit of that moon we passed and send another Raptor to investigate.”

“Sir?” Kara steps forward before Bill can dismiss the gathering. “Madam President?” she continues. “Is it possible that this could the Thirteenth Colony? That this could be Earth?”

That possibility, of course, has been screaming through Laura’s mind since the very beginning of this discussion. But it can’t be true. It can’t; the constellations are all wrong, and the prophecies... Laura shivers as a sudden chill washes down her spine. 

The prophecy of the dying leader…

She shoves her hands in the pockets of her jacket to hide their sudden trembling and does her best to discourage Bill’s look of concern with an icy glare. That man in entirely too attentive to her. She isn’t ready to discuss any of this publicly, not in front of so many who don’t truly believe in the scriptures. Lieutenant Thrace...Kara...she believes. But Lee won’t understand the turmoil she feels in the face of this new information, and Bill… Well. His reflexive denial is not going to help anyone.

She needs to think, to consult the scrolls, find firmer ground before she weighs in on the the issue.

If indeed there is an issue - it’s still a very real possibility that what they’ve found isn’t Earth at all, but a viper’s nest. She needs everyone’s full attention on proving or disproving that theory and not dwelling on what is likely false hope. 

“Consider your scripture, Lieutenant,” she advises the younger woman, hoping her curt tone will disguise the fact that she has failed to answer the question. She turns away then, pausing briefly in front of Bill. “Keep me informed of your progress, Admiral.”

“Of course, Madam President.”

The Admiral’s eyes linger on the retreating back of the President for a moment. Then he turns back to address his subordinates.

“Lieutenant Gaeta, prepare your instruments for the next recon flight. I want a more thorough scan of the orbit and atmosphere on approach, and ability to transmit video after entry. Contact the Chief about preparing the Raptor with the necessary equipment,” he barks his order. “Starbuck, Apollo.” He turns to the other two. “Be ready to fly out again at 0600.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Mulder, where are we going?” Scully asks as she watches the scenery change from barely inhabited wilderness to residential, thinking with some dismay of her own car left behind by the baseball diamond in her rush to keep up with her partner.

Speeding through the empty streets of Washington DC in the middle of the night is not exactly how she had envisioned her birthday, but in hindsight she’s not sure why she’s surprised. She should know by now that accepting any invitation from Mulder, no matter how seemingly innocuous, always comes with the possibility of everything suddenly escalating into a wild goose chase.

“You still have that video camera your brother gave you for Christmas one year?” Mulder asks, taking his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Scully.

Suddenly she realizes the streets they have been driving through look awfully familiar. “We’re going to _my_ place?” she asks, incredulous, thinking again of her own car she has clearly left behind for nothing.

Mulder tilts his head a little, something between a nod and a shrug. His look is a little apologetic but not particularly remorseful.

Scully rolls her eyes and sighs. “Fine, yes, I think I still have it,” she replies. “I don’t think I’ve ever really used it.”

“Aww, Scully, on behalf of Bill Jr., I’m offended! I think we need to remedy that right now, tonight.”

“What? Mulder, what are you talking about?” She shifts in her seat, hoping this isn’t leading where she thinks it’s leading. She _would_ like to sleep at some point tonight.

Mulder rolls to a stop in front of her apartment building and nudges the car into park. “It’s like you said, Scully. They’re unlikely to come back if we’re there. So, we won’t be there. But Bill Jr.’s little camcorder will be, recording every minute.”

Scully sighs, seeing her last gasp hope for a good night’s sleep evaporating along with her partner’s grip on reality. “Mulder you’re taking me too literally. What I meant was if...and this is a huge if... _if_ that ship is what you think it is, why would they come back to the exact same spot where they know they had been seen? And for that matter, wouldn’t a race advanced enough to have developed interstellar travel also have developed a way to pinpoint an uninhabited spot on which to land?”

”Spoilsport,” Mulder mutters, letting Scully take the lead as they walk towards her apartment.

“I know it’s a long shot,” he continues as they reach her door and she fumbles for her keys. “But it’s all we have to go on.” Scully manages to open the door and they both step in. Mulder continues: “Maybe they’ll never come back. Maybe they’ll come back and land on some lonely desert in Africa and we’ll be none the wiser, but _what if_ , Scully?”

Scully purses her lips, and doesn’t say anything.

“What if they do come back and land on the same spot or somewhere close? What if they fly by?”

“I would say the chances of that happening are very slim,” Scully points out, padding into her bedroom and opening a drawer she rarely opens. She finds the camcorder easily enough, still in its original packaging.

She walks back over to where Mulder is waiting and hands him the box. “Anything else you need?”

She hopes the implication - that she will not be joining him - is clear, and when his face falls, she knows it is. She crosses her arms across her chest and grits her teeth, determined to stand her ground.

“You’re not coming? Aw, come on Scully, it’ll be fun." His voice reminds her of her godson when he’s been denied a trip to the waterpark.

_Aw, come on Scully, if you had a nickel for every time you’ve heard those words from him, you could retire._

She really should have built up more immunity to his puppy dog eyes by now. She sighs, glancing longingly at her bed on the far side of the room.

***

“Higher, Scully!” Mulder calls up to her from the ground, fifteen feet down. “You have to go higher or the camera won’t capture a wide enough range.”

Scully rolls her eyes and pointedly does not answer her partner, but nevertheless finds a sturdy foothold a bit higher up in the old evergreen, then hoists herself up with her hands.

“Okay, okay, that should do it,” Mulder instructs. “Now tie the camera to the branch and turn on the motion sensor feature.”

After wrapping one arm around the nearest tree limb, she shrugs off her backpack and reaches in to retrieve the camera and bungee cord salvaged from the trunk of Mulder’s car.

“Don’t forget to check the focus,” Mulder calls up.

“Do you want to do this?” she yells back.

“I’d be happy to, Scully, if _you_ want to give _me_ a boost to the first branch.”

Scully shoots him an exasperated look and, with a sigh, gets back to fixing the camera, double checking every setting to make sure that it won't be down to her if the recording shows them nothing of interest the next day.

Finally, satisfied with her work, she gives the branch one more nudge to make sure the camera is securely fastened, and then starts making her way down the trunk of the tree.

Still some distance from the ground, she feels Mulder's steadying hands closing in around her waist, her breath hitching for a second as she pauses to let him adjust his grip.

"I've got you," he tells her, his voice a tad softer than just a moment before.

She doesn't argue when he guides her down the rest of the way, and if his hands linger a little longer than necessary once she's safely on the ground, neither of them feels the need to comment on it. The smile that breaks out on Mulder's face when he finally does let go, is simply one of boyish charm and excitement.

"I didn't know you had a tree climber in you," he says, his tone a little teasing as he looks from Scully up to the branch where the camera now lay hidden, but the look on his face is suitably impressed.

Scully smirks and wipes her sappy hands on her pants, acknowledging the compliment with a nod of her head. Sometimes growing up with brothers can be useful. Then she, too, looks up at the camera, wondering what they have gotten themselves into this time.

"And now what?" she asks, stifling a yawn. Nothing around them seems to indicate that anything exciting is about to happen any time soon.

"Now?" Mulder says, placing his hands on Scully's shoulders as if trying to transfer some of his own energy onto her. "Now we wait."

***

“Galactica Actual to Major Adama. What do you see out there, Lee?”

Bill’s voice is steady, his face like granite, but he’s anxious, even though Laura is probably the only one who can tell. Saul Tigh could as well, were he present in CIC and not passed out drunk in his quarters, but that seems to be asking too much these days.

There is a long pause before Apollo answers. “Satellites, sir. I see satellites. Frakked if I know how we missed them before, but they’re there.”

“Must have been our angle of approach,” Starbuck chimes in. “We came on the night side the first time around. It’s daytime for this continent now.”

“Stay out of range,” the Admiral barks, his hand tightening on the edge of the console.

“We’re well back, sir,” Apollo advises, “and scanning, but even just visually, I’d say there is nothing manned out here, and those satellites are antiques by Colonial standards. They won’t see us.”

“Get back to me when you’ve confirmed that, Major. Adama out.” Bill sets down the comm and turns to Laura, his face grim. “They’re sloppy. All of us are. A year ago, we never would have missed something like that.”

“They’re only human, Bill,” Laura says quietly, surreptitiously reaching out to touch his hand, “and we’re all still healing.” She glances at Felix Gaeta, frowning in concentration at his console behind Bill. “Mistakes will happen, but we’ll learn from them and do better.”

“As long as those mistakes don’t kill us first,” Bill growls.

Laura nods her head grimly. They can’t afford any more mistakes that cost lives. Not after the avoidable tragedy that was New Caprica.

“Something doesn’t add up,” she sighs under her breath, shaking her head.

Bill nods. “The technology.” His voice rumbles close to her ear, his words meant only for her. “If these creatures were Cylon, why would their technology be so old and inferior to ours?”

Laura has no ready answer.

“An old, abandoned experiment they’ve recently returned to?” she suggests after a pause, but the thought rings wrong even in her own ears as soon as she has spoken the words and she quickly shrugs them off.

When she looks at Bill, she knows they are both thinking of Earth, but that does not ring right either. She cannot reconcile the scriptures and constellations to where they are now. It all comes back to something not adding up.

Bill takes a breath and then voices the one thought she hasn’t yet dared to entertain but perhaps should have been considering all along:

“What if there are more than 13 Colonies?”

The words give Laura pause. She looks at Bill for a moment, then opens her mouth to speak but isn’t quite sure of what to say.

“What if they got divided before they reached Earth?” Bill goes on. “What if some fraction of them got separated and stranded here with less than what they had to begin with?” He pauses, his eyes searching Laura’s. “If these people are not Cylons, and they truly are like us, then perhaps the scriptures simply don't know everything, Laura.”

Bill’s casual blasphemy normally sets her teeth on edge, but this time it barely registers, as intrigued as she is by his hypothesis. _Could_ the thirteenth tribe have become divided at some point in the ancient past, by some variety of misadventure or perhaps even by mutiny? Could the people living on this planet be the ancestors of some fragment of the tribe lost to history, unforetold and forgotten?

The room suddenly blurs, and Laura sways, her hands flying up, searching for purchase. They find it in the sturdy form of the Admiral, grasping onto the fabric of his uniform as he takes hold of her elbow to steady her.

“Laura?” He sounds oddly like he’s underwater. Or, perhaps, like she is.

She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply several times, until the wave of dizziness passes. When she opens her eyes again, Bill alone is watching her thoughtfully while the rest of those present look steadfastly in any direction but hers.

“Are you okay?” he asks, one hand still holding her elbow, the other poised awkwardly, inches from her hip, torn between propriety and protectiveness. She releases her death grip on the front of his uniform jacket and takes a step backward, leaving his hand to fall back to his side.

She coughs twice, holding her hand to her mouth. A cold, the crew can think if they so choose. The president just has a cold.

“Admiral, can I see you in your quarters, please?”

Bill nods, his eyes searching hers for an answer she’s not ready to give him here, in front of an audience.

“Go ahead,” he finally tells her in a half murmur. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

***

Laura has barely kicked off her shoes and made herself comfortable on the Admiral’s couch when the hatch swings open and Bill strides in, giving the guard outside a curt nod of dismissal before closing the hatch again behind him.

The concern evident in his eyes as he turns to face her, tugs at something undisclosed inside Laura, and she swallows an unexpected lump before forcing a smile back on her face.

It’s a charade she might as well have not bothered with.

She can instantly tell that Bill is not buying it. If anything, he looks even more concerned as he walks over to the couch and sits down, a hand almost reaching to grab one of her own before he seems to think better of it at the last minute.

“Laura?” He somehow manages to compress the full length of his inquiry into one word.

She attempts a reassuring smile again, but can’t bring herself to look at him, opting to examine her hands instead.

“Talk to me,” Bill urges, his voice gentle but firm.

It should be easy, talking to Bill. It _has_ been so easy for so long now, and yet this…

There’s no way around it really, so Laura decides to start from the beginning, or as near as.

“You remember that day I was staying on this ship?” she starts. “I said I was going to the gym. We talked about that cabin.”

Bill stiffens at her words but then nods, the memory still clear for them both.

“Well, I wasn’t just going to the gym,” Laura continues. “I had another appointment, too.”

She pauses for a beat and then adds in one breath: “I went to see Doctor Cottle.”

Bill stares at her silently for a long moment, then exhales harshly and pushes his hands hard against his thighs to stand. “I think I’m going to need a drink for this.”

Walking over to the drink cart, he pours a couple of fingers into a glass, then pauses with the bottle poised above a second, waiting until she shakes her head in the negative. He slugs the drink back and pours a refill before retaking his seat, his expression grim.

As he quite clearly already knows what she’s about to say, she doesn’t mince words. “Bill, my cancer is back.”

He nods once, then drains his second glass and sets it carefully on the table before looking over at her. “You’ll fight it,” he says, as if it’s a foregone conclusion. “You’ll win.” His tone brooks no argument.

Laura nods. She’s already decided this, has agreed to Cottle’s suggested treatment plan. This time is different from the last time. They’d caught it early enough that she has a fighting chance.

Or so she’d thought until they found this planet.

_The dying leader will lead humanity to the promised land._

_The leader suffers from a wasting disease and will not live to enter the new land_

_...will not live..._

Bill is still looking at her, jaw set, prepared for an argument, and she feels a sudden flash of affection for this man who would physically fight back her cancer cells with his bare hands if only he could see them. Impulsively she reaches out and takes his hand, pushing aside her own doubts.

“Yes, Bill. I’ll fight.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s almost dusk the next day when Scully follows Mulder to the tree where they left the camera. Granted, it’s not where she’d prefer to be heading straight after work, but she considers it a small victory to have convinced Mulder to come to the office at all, to fill in some long overdue paperwork. 

Of course, all he _had_ done between pestering Scully and throwing pencils at the ceiling was open a new X-file on the military aircraft they had seen, but at least it had kept him busy long enough to let Scully concentrate on some real work for a while. 

“Come on Scully,” Mulder’s voice interrupts her thoughts, alerting her to the fact she has fallen behind. “We need to….” He pauses suddenly mid-sentence and Scully, following a few steps behind, almost collides with his back when he comes to a halt.

“Wha…?” Scully starts but then sees Mulder bring his finger to his lips, indicating they should remain silent.

“Look,” he whispers, pointing through the trees into the clearing.

Scully’s eyes follow his finger until they land on what has caught his attention: the same unusual looking aircraft from the night before, sitting on the ground with the door thrown open.

“I’ll be damned,” she mutters under her breath.

Then it registers that this time they’re not the only ones at the scene. A man and a woman, as human as Scully has ever seen, are standing near the aircraft, apparently having a conversation while setting up some kind of equipment on the ground. Judging by what they’re wearing, she guesses these two must be the pilots of the aircraft.

“Well, they’re obviously not aliens,” she says. “But those don’t look like any American military uniforms I’ve ever seen.”

Mulder casts her a sidelong glance, but doesn’t comment. 

Across the clearing, the pair now appear to be having a disagreement. The man is pointing back at the aircraft, while the woman shakes her head, her arms folded defiantly across her chest. Then, without warning, she turns on her heel and begins striding quickly in their direction, leaving the man staring after her.

“Damn it,” Mulder hisses. “Quick, Scully, out of sight!”

“What? Why?” Scully asks. “Who cares if she sees us?” In fact, she wouldn’t mind getting a closer look at that uniform. 

“I’ll explain later. Just get over here.” With that, Mulder pulls her by the hand behind a cluster of fat evergreens and drags her down onto her knees in the dirt just as the woman reaches the edge of the clearing next to where they had been standing.

Seen through the trees, she looks younger than Scully would have assumed - perhaps mid-twenties, which seems startlingly young to be flying an obviously experimental plane. She also looks rather annoyed as she strides quickly past their hiding spot.

“Kara!” The male pilot appears in their sightline then, jogging to catch up to his partner. “Kara, wait. Where the frak do you think you’re going?”

_Frak?_ Scully supposes it must be some kind of military slang, though she’s known many servicemen and it’s a new one to her.

“Back off, Lee,” the woman, Kara, replies. 

“We need to be careful,” the man, Lee apparently, insists. “That’s the order we were given in case you forgot.”

_Careful?_ Scully can’t help wondering why. Clearly, this must be some kind of top secret military operation, but why here? And ordered by whom? She glances at Mulder whose eyes are fixed on the man and the woman, his face attentive.

“We also need to explore, in case you forgot,” Kara continues the argument, lowering her voice into a hiss that’s still loud enough to carry the short distance to where Mulder and Scully remain hidden.

Still on the ground behind the trees, Scully shifts slightly to relieve pressure on her knees, then winces at the rustling sound that results. Mulder whips his head in her direction, his index flying to his lips. Both of them holding their breath, they look back to the two people on the edge of the clearing.

The man, who had been about to argue his point further, suddenly pauses and looks around, his hand reaching for what Scully now sees is a very unusual looking weapon on his belt. Instinctively, her hand goes to rest on her own side arm, ready to act swiftly if necessary. A quick glance in Mulder’s direction tells her he has made no move of the same kind.

“What is it?” Kara asks, lowering her voice still, but not quite enough to avoid being heard.

Lee continues to look around as if searching for something, but his eyes not yet fixing on anything specific.

“I don’t think we’re alone,” he says after a beat. “I heard something. Over there.” He jerks his head in the direction of the hidden observers and Scully wonders if confrontation might now be unavoidable.

She sees Lee whisper something to Kara and even though she can’t hear the words, she can guess their content as the two start slowly moving closer, weapons held out.

Not to be caught defenseless, Scully starts pulling out her own gun, but soon feels Mulder’s hand on her arm, wordlessly telling her to stop.

Instead, he lifts up his arms and slowly steps out from behind their copse of trees.

Scully stands as well, slowly lifting her arms into the air and glancing up at Mulder as she does so. Why had he been so anxious to hide from these people and why now is he so willing to surrender to them?

“Who are you?” Lee demands. “Why were you spying on us?”

Unseen behind the brush, Mulder carefully nudges her foot with his, a silent request that he be allowed to do the talking. “I apologize, sir,” he says. “We were out for a hike, and well, I’m a bit of an airplane buff so when I saw your plane there, well I really wanted to see it up close. But I thought if you knew there were people around, you wouldn’t leave it unattended. It was a dumb impulse. My girlfriend tried to tell me as much.”

Scully’s eyebrow raises of its own accord. _Girlfriend?_

“You like planes, huh?” the woman asks, taking a step towards them. Her tone is one of suspicion, greater suspicion, it seems to Scully, than the situation should warrant. But then again, she still doesn’t recognize the pilots’ uniforms. None of the insignia are familiar and there isn’t a single US flag in sight. What if these two are from another country, sent here to spy on the US? Of course they would be suspicious of Mulder wanting to get a look at their plane.

“Yeah,” Mulder was saying next to her. “So...do you think I could get a look at her?” 

Kara and Lee look at each other, their faces grim.

"You wanna get a look?" Kara asks then, looking at Mulder again. "You might get a closer look than you wish."

Her eyes turn to Scully. "And you?" she asks. "Do you speak at all or are you going to let your boyfriend do all the talking?"

Scully's only response is an icy glare.

Mulder, meanwhile, seizes another opportunity to speak: "Truly, we mean no harm," he assures their captors.

"Perhaps you don't," says the man who so far has let Kara do the talking. "But we can’t be sure. You’ve already seen too much so we have to take you in for questioning."

"Take us in where?" Scully asks, no longer able to keep silent. "And on whose authority?" 

Kara, having already started towards them, pauses.

"So she does speak," she says, looking at Scully appraisingly until her eyes suddenly narrow. Then she steps forward and swiftly reaches for Scully's side, removing her gun from its holster. "Your boyfriend wanted to see our plane?" Kara says, looking at the weapon she has just confiscated and then back at Scully. "Well, you're both going to see it. You're coming with us."

***

_Admiral, you’re needed in CIC. You should probably bring the President if she’s with you._

In fact, she is, having returned to Galactica at the end of an already long day to check in on Major Adama and Lieutenant Thrace’s progress on the surface of the planet. They were still conducting surveys when she arrived in CIC, so she had accepted the Admiral’s invitation to dinner in his quarters while they waited for the two pilots to return.

Which, she assumes they must have done, if they’re being summoned.

“What do you suppose they’ve found?” she asks Bill, as he offers an arm to escort her down the hallway. After a pause, she accepts the gesture. 

Bill shakes his head. “I wouldn’t venture to guess. Gaeta’s scans from here have proven to be unreliable - he suspects the cause is something to do with the pollution in the atmosphere. Which could indicate the planet is comparable to pre-Cylon war Colonial civilization, that is, heavily dependant on a manufacturing-based economy. But that’s just a guess. Hopefully Lee and Kara will have better information."

When they enter CIC, they find Captain Karl Agathon in Bill’s usual spot in front of the command station. He looks, to Laura, curiously pale.

“Status report,” Bill snaps. A quick glance in her direction tells Laura he’s also noted something off in his acting XO’s demeanor. 

“Yes, sir,” Agathon replies. “Apollo and Starbuck’s Raptor just returned to the landing bay. They ah… They have prisoners, Admiral.”

Laura's eyes widen as she looks from the Admiral to Captain Agathon.

"Prisoners?" she breathes.

"How many?" Bill asks at almost the same moment.

"Two, sir," Agathon replies, his eyes darting from the President to the Admiral. "Apparently the same two people Apollo and Starbuck saw on their first mission. They didn’t put up a fight."

"I don't like this," Laura says, shaking her head. "It could be exactly what they want, to be brought on board."

"They’ve been checked for weapons and other equipment, ma’am," Agathon assures her. "Two archaic looking guns were confiscated but they weren't carrying anything else. Whatever they might be planning, they won't be able to physically harm us."

Bill nods his head, his jaw clenched.

"It was supposed to be a recon mission," he mutters under his breath, glancing at Laura who has started pacing, her mind clearly at work. Then, looking at his XO: "Has the landing bay been cleared from any excess crew? We should try to limit the rumours spreading until we know more."

"I’ve informed the Chief, sir," Agathon replies. "He’s promised to handle the deck crew." The Captain hesitates a little. "Should I order the brig prepared for the prisoners?"

Pacing just behind Agathon, Laura’s head jerks up. When her eyes meet Bill’s, she nods sharply.

“Do it,” he orders. “Have the prisoners transported directly there after preparations are made. The President and I will question them personally.” He turns away and strides back in the direction from which he just arrived, his path converging with Laura’s several steps from the hatch. 

Just before they leave, he turns back, his expression dark. “And Helo, contact Apollo and Starbuck and tell them to get their asses to wardroom, now!”

***

_He looks like a kid at Christmas_ , Scully thinks, watching her partner turn in a slow circle, taking in the sight of the huge hangar they’re currently standing in. She, on the other hand, is quickly running out of patience.

“Where have you taken us?” she demands, and not for the first time, but the pilots continue to ignore her, as they have been ever since they had forced them into the small aircraft, bound and blindfolded them. 

They’re a few feet away now, talking with another man, this one tall and stocky with dark hair, dressed in what look like mechanic’s coveralls. Her question seems to startle him, and he glances reflexively in her direction, but he doesn’t answer her either.

“Scully, this is amazing,” Mulder says, drawing back her attention. “This ship must be the size of an aircraft carrier.”

“It’s not a ship, Mulder,” she says tensely, “It’s a hangar. A big garage for planes. On Earth.”

But he isn’t listening, his gaze having fallen on what appears to be a high tech fighter jet. “Whoaaaa,” he breathes. “Look at that baby.”

Scully has to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

“Mulder, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not here as guests,” she hisses at him. “This is clearly some secret military base, God knows where, and we need to start thinking how we’re going to get out of here.”

But Mulder still isn’t listening. He is already walking closer to the fighter jet, clearly in awe, until finally he seems to capture the attention of all three of their captors.

They all instantly stop talking and spring to action, Lee grabbing Mulder by the shoulders and pushing him back to where Scully is standing while Kara pulls out her weapon again, pointing it in their general direction.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks heatedly. “Stay away from the Viper.”

_Viper?_ Scully figures it must be a name for the type of aircraft.

“I’m sorry,” Mulder replies with his hands held up, repentant. “I only wanted to get a closer look. I’ve never seen such an exceptional aircraft before.”

For some reason, his words seem to amuse the tall, stocky man momentarily. He looks from Mulder to the aircraft and then leans in to say something to Lee.

Scully strains to listen but struggles to make out the words. She thinks she hears him refer to them as “primitives” and bristles at the thought, but can’t be quite sure she’s heard correctly.

“Where are we?” she asks again, growing increasingly annoyed. “Who are you working for?”

Lee and the man cease talking and all three of them look at each other as if silently communicating, perhaps trying to decide how much to say. For the first time, Scully thinks she can detect some level of hesitation on their faces. Finally it’s Lee who steps forward, motioning for Kara to put down her weapon.

“This is Galactica,” he says as if that should be all the information they need, but Scully finds the name singularly uninformative. She is about to ask for a clarification when the ringing of an odd-looking telephone interrupts them.

The stocky man picks up the receiver. “Tyrol,” he barks, then pauses to listen, nodding along to whatever the person on the other end is saying. “Wilco,” he says after a moment, then puts down the receiver.

“The old man wants you two in the wardroom,” he tells Lee and Kara. “Helo says he’s pissed. And he's got the President with him.”

Scully shares an incredulous look with Mulder. _The President is in on this? What the hell is going on here?_

“Frak!” Kara exclaims, stomping away a few steps and shoving her hand through her short, blonde hair.

Lee just shrugs. “I told you we should have waited for orders.”

“We couldn’t just leave them there,” Kara snaps. “If they’re Cylons…”

“You two might want to take this argument on the road,” Tyrol suggests. “Don’t want to piss them off even more.”

Kara growls in frustration, then stalks off, muttering words that are unfamiliar to Scully, but are still very clearly expletives.

Lee lingers. “What about these two?” he asks, gesturing to where they were now standing close together away from the Viper.

“Helo said a couple of Marines will be down to take them to the brig.”

_Marines?_ Scully again meets Mulder's eye. It’s becoming more and more obvious to her that whatever is happening here originates within the US Military and, apparently, within the executive branch of the government. Even Mulder is beginning to look concerned by what they’ve stumbled into. And now they’re going to jail?

“Fine,” Lee says. “Thanks Chief.” And with that, he leaves, following the same path as Kara out of the hangar.

“So,” the man called Tyrol asks conversationally, “What brand of toasters are you two?”

Mulder and Scully look at each other, perplexed.

“Toasters?” they repeat almost in unison.

For the first time, Scully wonders if perhaps all this is actually just a fever dream she’s about to wake up from.


	4. Chapter 4

“What the frak were you two thinking?” Bill bellows as soon as Kara and Lee have entered the wardroom, and shut the hatch firmly behind them. “Which part of ‘recon mission’ and ‘tread carefully’ did you find so difficult to grasp?”

Laura, feeling a little tired after the day they have already had, has chosen to take a seat, but her expression mirrors the stern look on the Admiral’s face.

“Sir, we had to land in order to get the readings you wanted,” Lee replies coolly. “We were as careful as possible in unknown territory.”

“We checked a parameter of several clicks before landing and found no signs of activity,” Kara chimes in. “These two must have snuck up on us when we were already on the ground, but once they saw us we had to do something.” She pauses for a beat, meeting the Admiral’s eyes in a challenge. “Wouldn’t you say so...sir?”

Bill looks at her for a moment. He can’t deny the veracity of her statement, but it does little to appease him.

“You were both sloppy for being seen in the first place,” he growls after a pause. “If you had done your job properly, we would be going through the data you gathered right now instead of trying to decide what to do with these two...whatever the frak they are...in the brig.”

With a final huff, he turns around and takes a seat, looking at Laura for assistance.

With an effort she hopes is invisible to the others, Laura stands and leans on her arms against the wardroom table. She looks down for a moment, composing her thoughts, then lifts her head, regarding the two pilots over the rims of her glasses.

“You should have been more careful,” she begins, looking first at Major Adama, then quickly moving her stern gaze to Lieutenant Thrace, just in time to silence the objection she knew was coming. The younger woman instantly snaps her mouth shut and comes to attention.

“You should have been more careful,” she repeats, “but there is no point in dwelling on that now. We have a situation to deal with. What can you tell us about the two prisoners?”

Kara and Lee share a glance and Kara gives an almost imperceptible shrug. It’s Lee’s turn to come to attention.

“Ma’am, we are now of the opinion that the man and woman we brought aboard Galactica are not Cylons. Now of course we can’t be certain, but they are...naive...in ways that Cylon pretenders would not be. For example, the male prisoner was fascinated by Dad’s old Viper in the landing bay. He referred to it as ‘an exceptional aircraft’.” Lee turns to address his father, “I mean, no offense sir, but that thing’s an antique and…”

“And no Cylon is going to be impressed by it; I take your point, Lee,” Bill says sharply. “But it could all be an act.”

And therein lies the problem, Laura knows. Anything that points to these people being nothing more than they seem to be, can equally be explained by the possibility that they’re lying. There’s really only one way to find out for sure.

“We have to talk to them,” she sighs out loud. “See what they’re willing to share.”

“Just...talk?” Kara asks a little hesitantly, perhaps remembering some of the earlier methods the President has ordered to be used with Cylons.

Laura throws her an unamused look and then takes off her glasses, pocketing them for future use.

“Just talk, without delay,” she replies dryly, holding Kara’s gaze. “We need to know more before we decide on any further action.”

“Madam President,” Bill cuts in, standing up and stepping a little closer. From the concern written plainly on his face, Laura can tell there is at least one pair of eyes that has noticed her struggle to stand up. “Are you sure?” he asks, the three words laden with meaning.

It is as close as he can come, in front of the others, to asking if she would rather have a rest.

Almost imperceptibly, Laura shakes her head. She will muster up the strength to walk to the brig and have a talk with these prisoners because it’s what must be done, and she has to be there herself. On a matter as important as this, she’s not willing to rely on only second-hand accounts.

When she replies, it is to the whole room, turning away from Bill’s probing eyes: “There’s no way around it,” she says steadily. “We have to talk to them before they have time to come up with a story they want to tell us.”

“Also,” she continues as they all start piling towards the hatch, Bill’s hand almost automatically coming to graze the small of her back. “We need to solve this quickly, because _if_ this planet is hostile, we can’t leave soon enough. Every moment we waste, we’re putting ourselves and the entire fleet in danger.”

***

Scully paces the perimeter of the small cell, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Mulder who sits on a cot shoved up against the far wall, fingers tapping against the thin mattress, as he looks from side to side, examining everything that lies within their limited view.

“What the hell is going on here, Mulder?” she asks him again. “How long are they going to leave us in here? And why aren’t you more worried?”

Mulder fixes his gaze on her, then stands, crossing the tiny room to stand in front of her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. “Scully, relax. I don’t think these people mean to harm us. In fact, I think they’re just as confused as we are.”

“What? Why? What do you mean?”

“They think we might be Cylons, Scully. That’s what the woman said. Cylons. That’s why they’re being so cautious.”

She remembers that, now that he mentions it, but she hadn’t known what it meant and it seemed to be the least of their worries compared to the President of the United States wanting them behind bars. “I don't understand; does that word mean something to you, Mulder?”

He smiles. “There’s an X-file, Scully.”

The familiar words overcome her worry for a moment and she rolls her eyes automatically. _Of course_ there is.

“There was an incident in far northern reaches of Canada, around the turn of the century. A man, injured and half-frozen, turned himself into the local constabulary. He claimed to be a traveller from another world, in search of a lost tribe of his ancestors. His ship crash landed, he explained, and had been lost at the bottom of a frigid lake. He himself had only survived with the assistance of his mechanical companion. He called that companion a Cylon.”

Scully looks at Mulder for a moment, letting his words sink in.

“ _Mechanical_ companion, Mulder,” she says then, after a brief silence, emphasizing the first word. “Your story sounds absolutely ludicrous, but even if we were to pretend that it’s true, for argument’s sake, why would anyone mistake us for mechanical companions?” She starts pacing again, muttering under her breath: “Mind you, I sometimes feel like one, following you around on every whim.”

“I know it’s a stretch,” Mulder admits, his tone conciliatory. He waits for Scully to stop pacing and then places his hands on her shoulders. “But this could lead us onto something new and exciting. Whatever this place is, they have technology beyond anything we’ve ever seen.”

“And maybe,” he adds when Scully doesn’t immediately reply. “Maybe their understanding of a mechanical companion is different than ours, too.”

“Mulder…” Scully starts, exasperated. “ _They_ are people just like you and me. Even if this is a secret military base, experimenting with more advanced technology than what has been made public, nothing here is beyond the stretch of our imagination. The guns, the aircraft, the communication devices...they’re different, yes, but recognisable.”

Even as she speaks, she can tell she might as well be talking to the wall, trying to convince it it’s a floor. Once Mulder has got something into his head, there is no way of swaying him with any amount of reason.

“If we get fired because of this, it’s on you,” she huffs at last, giving up. “Or imprisoned for life,” she adds. _Or killed_ , she doesn’t add, but is sure even Mulder must have considered the possibility.

“Relax Scully, it’ll be…” he starts to say, but doesn’t finish. Just as he’s started speaking, the door to the brig opens and an armed marine steps in, followed closely by an older man in a uniform and a smartly dressed woman who seems to exude quiet authority. Bringing up the rear are two familiar faces, Kara and Lee.

The woman approaches the front of their cell, with the older man taking a position behind and slightly to her left. His face remains stony, but she smiles. It does a fair job at making her appear warm and friendly, but does not, Scully notes, quite reach her eyes.

“Hello,” she says pleasantly. “My name is Laura. What are yours?”

“Why are we here?” Scully starts to ask, ignoring the question, but Mulder speaks over her.

“My name is Fox Mulder,” he says. “This is my partner, Dana Scully. We’re agents with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“Investigation,” the woman repeats. “So you investigate criminal matters?”

“Many of our colleagues do. Our particular interests lie elsewhere.”

Scully looks from her partner, to the almost frighteningly composed woman, and back, feeling like a second conversation is happening here, private and below the surface, and to which she is not a party.

Neither, apparently, are Lee and Kara, who exchange looks of bewilderment at the woman’s seemingly casual conversational efforts.

If the older man has any feelings on the matter, he doesn’t let them show. His face is like asphalt: rough, dark, and unmoving.

“And where might that be, Mr. Mulder?” the woman asks.

“The paranormal,” Mulder says, matching her deliberate tone. “Unexplained phenomena. Whether we are alone in the universe.”

“Is that in question in your mind?”

Mulder doesn’t answer right away, taking the time to examine each of the people on the other side of the bars - looking from the soldier with his large gun who has somehow managed to blend into the background; to the two pilots, previously so loud and arrogant, but now quietly subordinate; to the man whose authority fills the room without him having to say a word; and finally back to the coolly elegant woman with the carefully maintained facade.

“No,” he says eventually. “It is not 'in question' at all.”

The woman hums, her face inscrutable. Then she slowly turns to Scully, letting her gaze linger before she speaks, giving Scully the impression she is being scrutinised despite no apparent change in the woman’s expression.

“And you are Ms. Scully?” she says at length, tilting her head slightly.

Scully nods in affirmative. “Yes, ma’am.”

“May I ask where _you_ stand on this matter?” the woman inquires, her voice pleasant and yet at the same time somehow detached.

She is good at what she does, Scully thinks, whoever she is and whatever her role in all this. When she considers her response, she cannot help but feel that lying to this woman’s face would probably not be a good idea. There is steel hidden beneath the silk they are currently being presented with, and it’s not even hidden very deeply.

“I don’t always agree with my partner,” Scully replies after a pregnant pause. “But I trust him implicitly.”

It’s a careful answer, but there’s no lie in it. The woman smiles, an almost imperceptible turn of her lips.

“That is admirable,” she replies after a beat and, then, with one more meandering look from Scully to Mulder, she takes half a step back.

This seems to be a cue for the man in uniform to step forward. As he comes to stand under a beam of light, Scully can see a worn face that seems to be etched with a history of many hardships: weary and cratered with scars. The insignia of his uniform seem to speak of a high rank, if his powerful presence in the room had not already been clue enough, but the golden pins on his lapels are like nothing Scully has seen before on any American, or even foreign, uniforms that she’s familiar with.

A look passes between the man and the woman, and for a moment Scully thinks she can see a fleeting softness in the woman’s eyes before they both turn to face the cell again, the facade fully restored.

Now, it’s clearly the man’s turn to speak.

“My name is William Adama. I am the Admiral of this fleet and the commander of this ship. My people…” He turns briefly to Lee and Kara, who quickly look at the floor in unison. “...brought you here against your will. For that I apologize. They acted rashly, and without orders. They have been reprimanded.”

“So we can leave?” Scully asks.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow that,” the Admiral says. “You see, while my pilots acted inappropriately, the fact that they acted at all has put all of us into a bit of a predicament. We cannot afford to let you leave without knowing who and what you are.”

“What we are?” Scully repeats, incredulously. “What we are is citizens of the United States of America, not to mention federal agents. We have rights here...Admiral. Under whose authority are you holding us? The President’s?”

“Yes,” the woman interjects, a brief flash of surprise crossing her face before her features regain their careful neutrality. “My authority. And his own as Admiral of this fleet.”

“Scully,” Mulder warns quietly. “I don’t think anyone was ever talking about _our_ President.”

Scully exhales sharply in frustration and lifts a hand to her left temple, massaging the beginnings of a headache. _Have all these people gone mad?_

“Admiral, you will have our full cooperation,” Mulder is saying beside her. “What do you need to know?”

“Let’s start with the planet below,” the older man rumbles. “Is it under Cylon control?”

“No, sir,” Mulder says. “Our people are called humans. Our planet is called Earth.”

For a moment you could hear a pin drop in the small, dark room. The Admiral freezes, stock-still, his eyes bulging. Behind him Kara and Lee turn to each other, open-mouthed. Even the guard looks shocked, his head turning to look at the prisoners directly for the first time since he had entered the room.

But the most extreme reaction comes from the woman, who until this moment has appeared utterly unflappable. “Earth,” she whispers, her eyes going wide and the colour draining from her face. She takes one step forward, hands rising, almost as if in prayer, and then she crumples to the hard metal floor.


	5. Chapter 5

In an instant, the Admiral is down on his knees beside her, all formality forgotten.

“Laura!” he exclaims, but there’s no reply.

Kara and Lee look at each other, shifting on their feet uneasily, clearly not quite sure what to do.

“Cottle,” the Admiral shouts, his hands cradling Laura’s head. “Get Doctor Cottle!”

“Yes, sir,” Lee answers, and they both sprint off to do one man's job, perhaps glad to have been given something to do.

Scully can feel Mulder’s eyes on her and knows what he’s thinking, knows she has to make the offer, even as a prisoner.

“Sir…” she starts, but Admiral Adama’s attention seems to be completely on the woman.

She tries again, in a more assertive voice. “Sir! I’m a medical doctor. May I look at her?”

At this, the Admiral looks up and Scully can see varying degrees of worry and doubt battling for dominance in his blue eyes. It is a short fight where worry for Laura seems to win. He looks over at the armed man still in the room.

“Let her out,” he orders him. “Only the woman,” he adds in response to the guard’s questioning eyes.

Scully looks at Mulder who only nods and steps back, indicating that she should go, that he isn’t about to cause any trouble.

In a moment, the cell door clicks open and the guard pulls Scully out, quickly shutting the door again behind her. At first, he holds her at gunpoint, but the Admiral shakes his head.

“That won’t be necessary, Eric,” he says, his eyes on Scully rather than the guard. “Isn’t that right, Ms. Scully?”

Scully nods, kneeling down slowly so as not to cause any alarm.

“I’m only here to look at her,” she assures them both, feeling for a pulse, which she quickly finds. “Has this happened before?”

The Admiral glances at the guard, who has once again assumed his distant, professional stare. He turns back to Scully.

“She has cancer,” he explains sharply, his angry tone at odds with the gentleness with which he touches the unconscious woman. “She pushes herself too hard, always. And what you said was a shock.”

Scully’s eyes meet Mulder’s over the older man’s head. _What had they said?_ But there’s no time to think about that now.

“What kind of cancer does she have, sir? Do you have the means to treat it on this ship?” Some part of her mind realises her choice of words must demonstrate that on some level, she seems to have accepted they are on spaceship and not in a military base. Accepted, or just bought into the same delusion as the rest. But it’s not the time to reflect on that question either.

She hears the pounding of feet, and seconds later, a heavyset man with white hair and a dingy lab coat bursts into the room, Lee and Kara hot on his heels.

“Get back!” he snaps. “Give the lady some room to breathe.”

Scully, assuming this is the woman’s regular doctor, moves back. 

“You too, Bill,” the doctor adds when the Admiral fails to comply.

“Frak you,” is Adama’s only comment. He doesn’t move an inch from where he sits on the floor stroking the woman’s hand.

The white-haired doctor snorts and eases himself down to his knees. “President Roslin,” he calls sharply as he checks her pulse. “Wake up, or I’ll toss you out an airlock.” He retrieves a penlight from his pocket in order to check her pupils, but before he can, a low moan escapes her lips. Her eyelids begin to flutter and then open.

“Earth,” she breathes, but still appears to be only half conscious.

“Took a little nap, did you, Madam President?” the doctor says. His whole tone of addressing the President ( _the President of what_ \- it’s another question she files away for later consideration) strikes Scully as highly unprofessional, but there seems to be a familiarity between the two that surpasses the usual doctor-patient relationship.

As the President still seems unable to speak for herself, the white-haired man’s eyes turn to the Admiral.

“What the frak is going on here?” he asks. Then, he finally seems to notice Scully. “And who the frak are you?”

_Frak?_ That word again.

“I’m Dana Scully, Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she replies, wondering how deep into an explanation she’s expected to go. She decides to cut it down to the essentials. “The President and the Admiral were interrogating me and my partner when the President suddenly collapsed.”

At the mention of a partner, the doctor’s eyes quickly dart towards the cell, making note of Mulder who has stepped closer to the bars again. Scully continues: “I’m a medical doctor and was allowed out to examine the President. I was doing that when you arrived.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow, seemingly not very interested in the minutiae of the interrogation she alluded to.

“A medical doctor?” he asks, glancing at the Admiral. “Haven’t seen too many of those in this fleet besides myself.”

Scully is not sure where to even begin dissecting that statement.

“Now, Dr. Scully,” he starts again before she can say anything. “What do you suggest we do about this stubborn lady over here?” He indicates the President with a nod of his head. At that moment, as if on cue, she stirs again.

“Stop talking as if I’m not here,” the woman mutters, making an attempt to sit up, but being forced to accept the support of the Admiral’s arms again.

“If you keep pushing yourself at this rate, you _won’t_ be here much longer,” the Doctor states flatly. “I have a distinct memory of telling you to take it easy.”

The woman makes a dismissive noise and, still clinging to the Admiral’s arm, attempts to stand. 

“Laura,” the Admiral warns. Their eyes catch and the intensity of the look they exchange makes Scully look away, feeling like an intruder. But whatever wordless communication takes place results in the Admiral helping the President to her feet, one strong-looking arm around her waist, the other still holding her hand.

“You two, come help her down to Life Station.” The doctor gestures to Kara and Lee, who immediately arrange themselves on either side of the President as Adama reluctantly steps back. “Don’t even think about letting her talk you into a different destination,” he directs. “She’s scary, but I’m scarier. Got it?”

“Ha,” the President says, some strength returning to her voice and colour to her face. “Hardly. But don’t worry, I’ll cooperate. For now.” Lee and Kara smirk as they help her walk through the hatch.

The doctor turns back to Scully. “Well? What do you think?”

“She’s clearly in a weakened state, but I really couldn’t say any more than that without knowing her history and reading her chart.”

“Okay, well, come on then.” The doctor waves his arm and starts off in the direction of the door.

Adama, who had been watching Laura leave with a worried expression on his face, holds up a hand to stop her from following, not that she’d been about to with the guard still discreetly pointing a gun at her. “She’s a prisoner, Jack, not a consultant.”

The doctor stops and turns back. “She can’t be both? What did she do, anyway? And how did I not know there was another doctor in the fleet? What ship are you from, young lady?”

The last question is addressed to Scully, but it’s the Admiral who answers. “She’s not from a ship. She’s from the planet below us. A planet called Earth.”

_Fleet? Planet below us?_ Scully tries not to think of those words, knowing she needs to focus on the present. Instead, she watches as the doctor’s eyes widen slightly and he looks, for the first time, momentarily flummoxed.

“Earth, you say?” he asks, reaching for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket. 

The Admiral nods solemnly. For some reason the word seems to elicit a peculiar response from everyone who hears it, and Scully wonders if it might be a code for something.

Could they have stumbled into some strange simulation where a number of people have been isolated, perhaps even for years, in order to test human ability to cope on long space journeys in a relatively confined environment? She brushes the thought aside for later consideration.

In the meanwhile, the doctor has lit his cigarette and seems to have gotten over his immediate surprise. Scully finds him eyeing her with some curiosity.

Then he turns back to the Admiral.

“I could still use a consultant, Bill,” he says, puffing out smoke. “If she _is_ from Earth as you say, I’m even more curious to hear about her medical views.” He turns to Scully again. “That is, of course, if you are willing to come with me, young lady.”

For some reason, despite the smoking and the general lack of deference to authority, Scully finds she quite likes the old doctor.

“What about my partner?” she asks, looking into the cell. Despite her curiosity to see more of this “ship”, and especially what the doctor had referred to as Life Station, she can’t leave without knowing what will happen to Mulder. The people who have imprisoned them don’t strike her as hostile, but she fears a wrong move could still change their situation for the worse. And Mulder is not exactly known for deference to authority himself.

The doctor looks questioningly at the Admiral, then back at Scully.

“Is he a doctor too?” he asks.

“I’m afraid I don’t have that distinction,” Mulder quips from his cell.

“Your partner will be fine,” the Admiral replies. “I don’t know how we are going to deal with the two of you yet, but I can assure you, whatever we decide, we don’t just quietly dispose of people while they are being held for questioning.”

“You should go, Scully,” Mulder says, looking at her reassuringly while the doctor seems to have developed a coughing fit. “You heard what the Admiral said. I’ll be fine.”

Adama watches as the two doctors leave the secured area, trailed by the marine he has sent with them, already discussing medical matters of which he has no real understanding. Any unease at the idea of having a potential Cylon walking around his ship is vastly outweighed by the hope that this doctor may be able to help Laura. Who knows what knowledge these people, Cylon or otherwise, could have developed here on this distant, lonely little planet.

And, if he’s being honest, he’s all but ruled out the possibility that these two are Cylon agents anyway. Just before they had left the wardroom earlier, Gaeta had reported at last being able to tap into the planet’s antiquated satellite feeds. If the people of this planet are Cylons, they have developed a seemingly infinite number of models, none of whom resemble the ones his crew is familiar with. The chance that these people are descendants of some portion of the thirteenth tribe has, incredibly, become the more likely theory.

But, he has to be sure. He turns back to the male prisoner, intent on resuming his questioning.

The younger man beats him to it.

“So, you’ve been looking for Earth for a long time, I guess.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Miraculous,” Scully whispers, leafing through Laura Roslin’s medical chart. The before and after x-rays of her first tumour are like nothing she’s ever seen before. “It’s just...gone.”

“Yep,” says the old doctor whose name, she has learned, is Cottle. “Like it was never there.”

“How?”

He draws deeply on his cigarette, his third in less than an hour, and pulls a second chair over to the desk where she sits. “Well, young lady, that’s a hell of a story. Are you sure you’re ready to hear it?”

Scully, not at all sure that she is, nods her head nevertheless and the doctor begins a tale that seems to defy all logic and reason. A tale of humans and Cylons, and a child that is the offspring of both.

When he finishes, a silence hangs between them for several minutes.

“Cylons,” Scully says at last, starting to pace the small room that is the doctor’s office. “I keep hearing that word and yet can’t make any sense of these...these beings.”

“That makes two of us,” Cottle answers. He lights yet another cigarette and for a moment Scully is reminded of someone else who likes to burn through cigarettes at a similar pace. She shudders, reminding herself that even if this doctor is out of his mind, he at least seems perfectly friendly.

“I was given to understand that these Cylons are, or perhaps were, your mechanical companions,” she says at last. “ _If_ you are from another planet as you say, perhaps your technology is far superior to ours, but even then we’re still talking about _technology_. How could machines ever procreate?”

“That is a mystery we haven’t been able to solve. Until they attacked us, we’d had no dealings with them for several decades. It came as a shock when they suddenly looked like us.” Cottle pauses and looks at Scully for a moment. “I wager that’s why the old man and the President are so suspicious of you. They’re afraid you are Cylons too.”

“And you’re not worried?” Scully asks, raising an eyebrow. All this makes little sense to her but for now it appears best to simply play along.

The doctor shrugs. “I’m here to mend people. And speaking of...” he pauses, lifting up the President’s chart again. “How much do you know about cancer?”

***

Laura leans forward on the hospital bed and cranes her neck in a vain attempt to see around the partially drawn curtain that blocks her view of the two doctors currently discussing her illness in hushed tones in the next room.

Sighing impatiently, she lays back down. She feels fine now, a little tired maybe, like anyone would after the day she’s had, but _fine_. She needs to get back to Bill and find out what’s going on.

Sitting up again, she takes one last glance at the curtain, then slides off the bed and onto the floor in her stocking feet. Bending over, she picks up her black pumps, but doesn’t put them on just yet. It’s not like she’s sneaking out - obviously she’s the President, she can leave anytime she wants - but it will be so much more expedient if she can do so without attracting attention.

Carefully, still looking behind her, she pulls the thin curtain back, steps forward, and collides with a large, solid object. A large, solid object wearing a rough, blue cotton jacket bisected by a long row of buttons.

“Going somewhere?” Bill asks, trying and failing not to smile when he notes her shoes in her hand.

Laura narrows her eyes. “Yes. I’m feeling much better and I’m going back to Colonial One.” She drops her shoes to the floor with a clatter, and steps into them with more dignity than most anyone else could have summoned under the circumstances.

“Really, and has the Doc agreed to that?”

“Doctor Cottle and our prisoner have been huddled together in the other room like gossiping schoolgirls since they arrived. I doubt they would have noticed I was gone.”

“Doctor Cottle and our _guest_ are trying to help you,” Bill reminds her gently. “And to do that, they’ll probably need to examine you at some point.”

Laura huffs, knowing he’s right, but at the moment utterly lacking in patience.

“What if you sit back down, and I tell you what I’ve learned from Mr. Mulder while we wait?” Bill suggests.

Laura looks at Bill, weighing her options. She _had_ wanted to talk to him, but preferably in the privacy of his quarters or over a secure line from Colonial One. Clearly, that’s not going to be an option now.

“Fine,” she sighs, knowing when to concede. “Let’s hear it then.”

Bill is still looking at her, his head slightly tilted.

“The bed, Laura,” he says, sternly, but with a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Laura raises an eyebrow, trying not to think of those words in a different context.

“I believe I asked you to sit back down,” Bill replies, still smiling. “You have done enough standing for today.”

That is something Laura does not disagree with, even though she would prefer the relative comfort of her own cot. With a show of some reluctance, she returns to the bed and toes off her pumps once again before sitting down and swinging her legs up.

Bill follows and takes a seat by the bed.

“Well?” Laura tries again. “What did this Mr. Mulder have to say for himself?”

“A great many things,” Bill replies and, seeing the impatient look on Laura’s face, hastens to add: “From what I could gather, their society is fundamentally not very different from ours. There is a system of government in place, but rather than having spread out into colonies, the planet seems to be divided into a great number of what they call 'countries', separated by artificial borders, all with their individual governments.”

Laura frowns. "That sounds terribly inefficient."

Bill nods. "That's what I thought."

“Do they know anything about us?” Laura asks then, thinking of the scriptures and what might have been passed on to these people if they are, indeed, descendants of the thirteenth tribe.

“Not really,” Bill replies. “Although this Mulder fellow seems to have specialized in...uh, 'the study of the unknown', as he put it. He says he has read of a case of a man and a Cylon landing on this planet before. I do not believe that to be a recent event, however. This Cylon would have been an old toaster model and in service of the pilot.”

"So there were people of the Twelve Colonies who were aware of this planet's existence?" Laura asks, surprised. Richard Adar had never mentioned anything like this, and if anyone should have known, it was the President.

"Not necessarily," Bill replies, shaking his head. "From the scant information available in this x-file, as Mr. Mulder calls it, it would seem the man who landed here was something of an adventurer." He chuckles. "Or maybe just a religious nut. In any case, he was on a quest, alone but for his Cylon, to find the thirteenth tribe when he crashed his ship into a lake somewhere near the north pole. Mulder says his story wasn't believed by local authorities and he died of pneumonia a short time later in a facility for the mentally disturbed.”

Laura hums, choosing to overlook the religious nut comment in an effort to not get sidetracked. "But he found them. He found Earth."

"Maybe," Bill allows. "This system doesn't match what we know about Earth from the prophecies, or the constellations we saw on Kobol, but there's no denying the name of the planet seems to confirm that at least part of the thirteenth tribe settled here, perhaps intermingling with the natives. I tried quizzing our Mr. Mulder on the planet's religion and mythology to see if any of it matches ours, but he didn't make it easy. We might have more luck with the woman."

"What do you mean, he didn't make it easy?"

Bill laughs, shaking his head. "Laura, all the man wanted to talk about was whether we had encountered any other alien races on our travels. Something about little grey men with large heads. He was quite disappointed to learn that, as far as I know, there is no one out here but humans and Cylons."

Just then the curtain on the other side of the bed slides noisily along its tracks. Bill and Laura both look up as the two doctors approach Laura's bed.

"Well look who's still here," Cottle says, his bushy eyebrows rising in exaggerated surprise. "I told my new associate here you probably snuck off a while ago."

"I take my health very seriously, Doctors," Laura replies primly, folding her hands in her lap while Bill tries not to laugh.

"Right, of course," Cottle says, with more than a hint of sarcasm. "Well, we've got good news and bad news. Dr. Scully?"

"Madam President," Scully says, stepping forward. "Dr Cottle has shown me your chart, including films of your tumour and the results of the tests he's done, and I'm happy to report that by Earth standards, you have an excellent prognosis. The stage you are in is eminently treatable."

From his chair by the bed, Admiral Adama is visibly relieved, a wide grin spreading across his face, but Laura remains suspicious. "And the bad news?" she asks.

"You'll have to come down to the planet for treatment. My partner and I can arrange a false identity for you, but you're going to need to stay for an extended period of time. At least six months, maybe longer."

Laura’s eyes widen.

“Six months?” she repeats, looking at Bill. “No, no,” she continues, shaking her head. “That’s not possible. We can’t stay here for six months.”

How could over 30 000 people settle on an already inhabited planet without causing a conflict? Especially if the planet is, as Bill had been told, already divided into many different fragments. They had been lucky so far to only have caught the attention of two local inhabitants, as far as they knew, but what would happen if their presence became general knowledge? What these people lacked in technology, they certainly made up for in numbers.

And then there was the ever present threat of the Cylons. Laura wasn’t sure how, but she was certain they had some way of tracking the fleet, and the longer the fleet remained put, the more they were endangering not only themselves, but also the inhabitants of this planet - apparently their human cousins.

“Laura,” Bill interrupts her thoughts. “We’ll have to make it possible. We _can_ make it possible.”

“We can’t stay here, Bill,” Laura replies in a hushed tone. “This planet may be called Earth, but it’s not _the_ Earth. It’s not the home we’ve been looking for. This planet belongs to…” she points vaguely in Scully’s direction, “...to these people here. Grounding the fleet here or putting it in orbit would put them in danger as much as it would put us in danger. We can’t repeat the mistakes we made with New Caprica.”

She watches as Bill’s jaw clenches and he takes a deep breath, unable to refute her assessment no matter how much he might wish to. She gives him a moment and then turns to Cottle:

"It's a nice thought but..." She doesn't get further when Bill suddenly speaks up, interrupting her:

“Then screw the fleet,” he says in a low growl.


	7. Chapter 7

At first Laura isn’t sure she heard him correctly.

“Excuse me?”

“Screw the fleet,” he says a little louder. “We’ve taken them this far, but who’s to say they can’t take themselves the rest of the way without us?”

Laura blinks, still not able to process what Bill is actually implying.

“Bill, what are you saying?” she asks.

Bill stands now, his voice steady and firm. "I'm saying maybe it's time to put ourselves first. We've done our part for humanity, Laura, and then some. Maybe it's time to hand the reigns over to the younger generation. Lee proved himself on Pegasus. He's more than ready to take command of the fleet."

"And the civilian government, Bill? Who am I supposed to leave in charge? Tory?" She laughs, more bitterly than she intended. It's not like she's never thought of stepping down, especially now that she’s sick again. Who knows how much time she might have left and she doesn’t want to spend all of it fighting with the Quorum. But every time she looks behind her, there’s no one there.

"We do what democracies do, Laura,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world which, of course, it should be. “We hold an election."

She snorts. "Yes, because that worked so well the last time."

Cottle clears his throat. "Dr. Scully, maybe we should take a walk."

"No," Laura says. "You stay. I'm leaving. There's nothing more to talk about. Thank you, Dr. Scully, for your time and effort. I'll have Eric escort you back to your partner, and..." she trails off, looking helplessly at Bill, not sure what he's decided to do with the two of them.

"And you'll be assigned to guest quarters until we decide how to proceed," he finishes, not taking his eyes off Laura. 

***

The room they are assigned is sparsely decorated but functional enough, with two bunk beds stacked one on top of the other and adjoined bathroom facilities.

It’s no worse than most of the motels they stay in while on the road.

“See, Scully,” Mulder says chipperly as he flops down on the lower bunk bed. “We’ve been promoted from prisoners to guests.”

“There’s a guard outside our door,” Scully points out dryly.

Mulder shrugs. “We’re on an intergalactic warship,” he says as if there’s nothing strange about the sentence. “I wouldn’t let myself roam freely here either.”

“An intergalactic warship, Mulder?” Scully repeats, crossing her arms. “Have you considered this might all be a hoax? A simulation?” She’s finding it more and more difficult to keep that possibility in mind herself after hearing Dr. Cottle’s story, related to her not with a tone of persuasion, but as simply a recitation of facts.

“Have you considered this might actually be real?” Mulder counters. “Look around you, Scully. When have you ever seen anything like this?”

“Sci-fi movies?” Scully suggests. She picks up a book that has been left on the table and holds it up. “I mean look at this, Mulder. Why are the corners cut like this? It’s not functional. I’ve seen that same design repeated everywhere, including the doctor’s charts.”

“Well, what do you do when you’re a technically advanced society without too many creative outlets?” Mulder shrugs. “We probably have many shapes in our designs that they would deem ridiculous.”

There’s a short pause and then Mulder changes the subject:

“So, what did you find out? How was the Life Station?”

Scully sets the book back down on the table with a thud. “It was...surreal,” she admits, walking over towards him. “Assuming what I was told was true, these people have been through an incredible amount of tragedy in a very short period of time. The fact that they’re still a functioning society, albeit a small one, is nothing short of amazing.” 

She sits down on the lower bunk beside Mulder and he rolls up into a semi-seated position, making space for her to sit leaning against the opposite bulkhead. “Agreed. From what the Admiral told me, these Cylons are relentless in their determination to exterminate their creators. Thirty thousand people remaining out from a population of billions, Scully. Less than a tenth of the population of Washington DC. I can’t even imagine the horror of seeing your entire civilization destroyed, of knowing everyone you ever knew is dead. And still somehow enduring.”

“If true, it’s a credit to them all, but particularly to their leadership.”

Mulder nods. “The Admiral and the President. What’s wrong with her, Scully?”

Scully sighs, lifting her legs onto the bed and wrapping her arms around her knees. “Breast cancer. It’s still stage one; she could be fine with treatment, but she’s refusing to leave her people.”

“Admirable,” Mulder says. “And understandable under the circumstances. But not exactly long-term thinking.”

Scully looks at her partner for a moment. “Under the circumstances…” she repeats under her breath, letting her eyes travel across the strange room they’re in, still not quite sure what the real circumstances actually are. “Well, assuming this is all real, which would be quite extraordinary,” she continues, giving Mulder a sharp look, “that woman hasn’t had the luxury of long-term thinking in quite some time. But hopefully the Admiral will be able to get through to her.” She stretches her legs out in front of her, her expression thoughtful. “I think there might be something more than the professional between those two.”

“You think so?” Mulder raises an eyebrow, letting the rest of her words slide.

“The Admiral, I believe, would remove her tumor with the sheer force of his own will if he could. The way he looks at the President is not exactly subtle.” Scully pauses for a beat and then adds. “The President is more reticent, but I believe she returns his feelings.”

“Hm,” Mulder hums thoughtfully, his eyes on Scully. “I suppose working closely together for a long time can do that to people, if they’re not careful.”

She looks down, suddenly finding the nondescript bedding quite fascinating. “Yes,” she agrees, “I suppose that’s true.”

***

“Bill, go home,” Laura says tiredly, tossing her glasses to her desk and rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I’ve made my choice, and it is _my_ choice. Not yours.”

Bill, having insisted on escorting her back to Colonial One, has been pacing back and forth in front of her, his face a storm cloud. Now he stops, finally, and sits in the seat opposite her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low.

“I know that,” he admits after a few beats. He lifts his head to look at her. “Of course it’s your choice, Laura, and I will fully support you in whatever choice you make. I just don’t want you to make it out of fear.”

She scoffs. “Fear. Fear of what? Those people?”

“Fear that the fleet can survive without you. That maybe you’re not so important after all.”

His words catch Laura off guard and she flinches as they hit their mark, exactly as she knows Bill had intended them. It's a calculated hit that stings all the more for being true, and for a moment the presidential facade crumbles as her shoulders sag in defeat. But only for a moment. Almost instantly she collects herself again and successfully schools her features into a cold, mirthless smile.

Bill, seeing the changes in her expression, immediately reaches forward and gently places his hand on top of hers on the desk.

“Laura…” he starts in a more conciliatory tone, but it's too late to take back the words he has already spoken.

“You want to talk about fear?” Laura interrupts him coolly, pulling her hand away as she leans back in her chair. “Isn’t that what this ridiculous idea of yours is originating from in the first place? Fear.”

She pauses for a moment and watches as Bill huffs and then springs to his feet, clearly ready to start pacing again but still staying put.

“You’re afraid, Bill,” she says, locking her eyes with his. “Afraid that you can’t lead the fleet when I’m gone. Afraid of…”

"Of what?" Bill interrupts him, slamming both of his fists on the desk between them. "You know what I'm afraid of so let's just get it out in the open."

He pauses, waits for Laura to say something, but when she doesn't, he sighs and shakes his head, stepping away from the desk again.

A long silence stretches between them until Laura finally takes a deep breath and then voices the one thing Bill had left unsaid.

"You're afraid of losing me."

The words spark in the air between them. Laura raises an eyebrow in challenge, the reason behind this confrontation all but forgotten. _Your move, Admiral_.

There are lines they do not cross, she and Bill - mutually agreed upon lines. Subjects they don’t broach, not anymore. The unspoken decision to not resume whatever fledgling relationship they had been developing on New Caprica before the occupation had not only been the right choice, it had been the only choice available to them. But godsdammit, she isn’t about to let Bill turn this personal without turning it right back around on him. No matter that it’s just as likely to come back and bite her in the ass.

“Yes,” he growls, leaning with his hands on her desk. “Yes, I’m afraid of losing you. And I don’t give a flying frak who knows it.”

They stay like that for a long moment, him challenging, her wavering. She knows he won’t back down, not ever, not for this. She can’t win here, and gods, she doesn’t know if she even wants to anymore, but she has to try again.

“Bill, we can’t.” Her voice is small, higher than usual as she tries to speak without weeping. “We have a responsibility to the fleet.”

He suddenly looks just as tired as she feels. “Laura, you can’t perform your responsibilities if you’re dead. Please, just talk to Dr. Scully. Go down to the planet and let her do her tests. Then decide.”

She stares at him and he stares right back, unflinching, until finally she nods slowly.

“Fine,” she concedes. Even disregarding her own medical predicament, she can’t say that she isn’t curious to see this planet and its people up close. “Just to do tests,” she adds sharply when she sees the relief on Bill’s face. 

“Just to do tests,” he agrees readily, seemingly satisfied with the headway he’s made for now.

Laura looks at him for a moment, tempted to remind him one more time not to get his hopes up, that to stay behind is simply not an option, but she lets out a sigh instead, feeling too tired to enter a second round of the same fruitless argument.

Besides, they still have more pressing matters to discuss.

“Is there anything we can do to ensure the safety of the fleet while I’m down on the planet?”

“While _we_ are on the planet...” Bill replies, giving Laura a stern look as he emphasizes the word ‘we’ “...the fleet will jump into the orbit of the big gas planet we passed on our way here, beyond the asteroid field. Gaeta tells me the planet has a large and intense magnetic field that could help confuse any signals of ours that the Cylons might be looking for.”

Laura raises an eyebrow. Clearly, Bill has already given this more than a passing thought.

Bill shrugs, and adds: “Besides, the planet has many moons that could be worth examining in case they can be harvested for anything useful.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Laura agrees, unable to hide a smile. “Good work, Admiral.”

Bill nods, his lips curving to return her smile. “Anything else, Madam President?”

Laura shakes her head. “Not for now, Bill,” she replies softly. “I think I will get some of that rest the doctor recommended and we can talk more about your plans tomorrow.”


	8. Chapter 8

Mulder and Scully had long since given up the pretext that they would be able to fall asleep under such strange circumstances, and are sitting at the small table in their guest quarters, talking quietly, when the guard enters the next morning.

“The Admiral wishes to extend you an invitation for breakfast,” the young man says, sounding oddly deferential for someone with such a large weapon at the ready.

“Well, far be it from us to disappoint the Admiral,” Scully mutters under her breath, and then immediately feels badly for it. In other circumstances, ones in which he wasn’t holding her prisoner, she thinks she would rather like the gruff, old military man. He reminds her quite a bit of her father.

Mulder is already on his feet. “We would be honored to accept the Admiral’s invitation,” he tells the guard, pushing back his chair to stand. “Wouldn’t we, Scully?”

She smiles tightly and stands, following Mulder and the guard through the hatch and out into the corridor.

***

Laura arrives at Bill’s quarters at the same time as the marine with their breakfast service. Bill himself isn’t in sight, and she can hear water running from behind the closed door to the head. She waves at the marine to proceed with arranging the table, and settles herself behind Bill’s desk, picking up a file of ships’ status reports to pass the time until he emerges.

She’s feeling much better now for having finally gotten some much needed rest. By the time she had crawled into her cot the previous night, she couldn’t have kept her eyes open a moment longer, not even with all the day’s events swarming through her mind, demanding her attention.

She still isn’t sure she shouldn’t just shut down the entire foolhardy scheme, insist Bill return the two prisoners to the planet and jump the fleet into the next system. She could then proceed with Dr. Cottle’s original treatment plan. It would be the responsible thing to do. But every time she thinks she’s made her peace with that decision, she remembers Bill’s words from yesterday and the look in his eyes as he said them. Maybe it's time to put ourselves first…

“Good morning,” Bill’s gravelly voice suddenly interrupts her thoughts.

Her eyes fly to the head where Bill has appeared in the doorway, freshly shaven, the buttons of his uniform still undone, a towel thrown over his shoulder.

“Good morning to you as well,” she returns, eyes dancing as she unabashedly takes in the Admiral’s appearance.

“You look well rested,” Bill says at last when it becomes apparent Laura has no intention furthering the conversation.

Laura nods, watching as Bill crosses the room, buttoning his uniform as he does so.

“I may have over-exerted myself yesterday,” she admits after a beat. “Unfortunately I can’t promise not to do so again today. We still have…” she pauses for a moment to search for the right word, “guests to deal with,” she settles on at last. “And also a trip to prepare for.”

Bill beams at her words. “I’ve already told Lee of our plans, and…” A knock on the hatch interrupts the rest of his sentence. At Bill’s call to enter, it swings open to admit a young marine, trailed by Mulder and Scully.

“Good morning,” Laura greets the two of them, standing and walking out from behind the desk. “I trust you slept well. I know the accommodations here on Galactica are rudimentary, but believe me when I say they are light years ahead anything I could offer you on my ship.” She laughs lightly.

“The room was very comfortable, thank you,” Mulder says, covering for Scully who is still processing the idea that the President has yet another ship. “Though I have to admit my mind was racing too fast to sleep. This is all just so incredible.”

“Almost unbelievable,” Scully adds dryly, more out of habit at this point than any remaining justifiable doubt.

Admiral Adama chuckles. “I can well imagine you might be questioning your own sanity under the circumstances. Not many days go by that I don’t do the same.”

Scully smiles, grateful for the understanding, even coming from such an unlikely corner.

“Please, sit,” the Admiral invites. “Our food stores don’t run to gourmet fare, but I think you’ll find our cook does an admirable job with the limited resources we have available.”

The four of them take seats around the small table, maintaining a politely awkward silence as the marine acting as steward places bowls of greenish noodles in front of each of them, then pours them steaming mugs of hot liquid.

“Enjoy,” Laura says, picking up her fork and twirling up some noodles.

Scully considers, then decides the hot beverage is probably the safer place to start. Picking up the mug, she takes a careful sip. The drink is bitter, and saltier than she expected, and she starts to sputter, quickly setting the mug down and covering her mouth with both her hands as she struggles to control the coughing. Mulder reaches out and pats her on the back, as Laura rises hurriedly to pour her a glass of water from a nearby carafe.

“I’m so sorry,” Laura says sympathetically, as Scully drinks deeply of the water. “I should have warned you. Our algae coffee is something of an acquired taste.”

“Someday we hope to acquire it ourselves,” Bill grumbles.

“Thank you,” Scully breathes as she puts her glass down, having emptied it of water. She glances at Mulder who has made a better start with the noodles.

Laura’s eyes follow hers. “The noodles are, perhaps, a safer choice,” she tells her kindly, picking up her own bowl. “They have...very little taste at all, which I have learned to count as a blessing.”

Scully nods and smiles politely at what she perceives as an attempt at humour, but doesn’t feel enough of an appetite to give the plate a try while the bitter taste of the coffee still clings to her mouth.

For a while, a silence settles in as the other three proceed with their eating. It is the Admiral that breaks the silence halfway through his portion:

“We have given some thought to your proposition, Dr. Scully,” he says between mouthfuls.

Scully nods and waits for him to continue. A look passes between the Admiral and the President.

“We have decided to take up your offer of performing more tests on me on this...this planet. Earth,” Laura continues for herself, putting down her bowl of noodles. She looks at Scully carefully, her eyes weighing her. “To avoid any undue attention, we think it best that only Admiral Adama and myself will make that journey while the rest of the fleet withdraws. In doing so, we are placing a great deal of trust on the two of you.”

“We’re honored, ma’am,” Mulder chimes in before Scully can reply.

“This is to be a private visit and we do not wish to make any contact with your government, or any of the other governments I understand this planet has,” Laura continues, her eyes traveling slowly from Mulder back to Scully.

“I understand,” Scully assures her when their eyes meet again. In all honestly she is not sure to what extent she truly understands any of what she has witnessed in the last 24 hours, but what she can understand and respect as a doctor is her patient’s wish for privacy. It is that doctor-patient relationship she chooses to focus on for now.

“We may face some issues with paperwork, seeing as you are...uh...foreigners,” Scully continues. “But…”

“I have some friends who can help,” Mulder cuts in. “And they know how to keep a secret,” he adds in response to the questioning looks he receives from both of their hosts.

“We won’t tell them the details of your...er...nationality,” Scully adds, noting their continued unease. “But it will be a great deal easier, for bureaucracy reasons, if you present as a typical American citizen with group health insurance.”

Bureaucracy, now that is a concept Laura is all-too familiar with. “We understand. We’ll cooperate with whatever you need in that area,” she tells them.

“Also,” Scully continues, “if possible, I’d like Dr. Cottle to accompany us as well. If you don’t want to stay on Earth for treatment, I can at least instruct him on our most common protocols, and perhaps he can incorporate some of them into your treatment here.”

“Absolutely,” Laura says.

“Absolutely not,” Bill says at the same time, immediately seeing the doctor’s education in Earth medicine as an all too easy excuse for Laura to accept some modified form of treatment onboard Galactica rather than the superior care she would receive only in a proper hospital.

Laura turns to look at him, surprised.

Bill shakes his head firmly. The excuse comes easily enough: “It’s just not possible. We can’t leave the fleet without a doctor, not even temporarily.”

“It’s only for a few days,” Laura insists. “Ishay can handle anything that comes up in the short term. And if Jack comes down and learns the procedures, there will be no need to stay any longer. He can muddle through up here."

“Muddle through?” Adama repeats incredulously. “Laura, this is your life you're talking about. You need to stay on that planet until you're well!” He slams his coffee mug down on the table, sloshing muddy green-brown liquid over the side onto the table, and stands, striding right out the open hatch without a backwards glance.

The other three stare after him for a moment in stunned silence.

“Well…” Laura exhales at last, standing up from her seat. “I’m...sorry about that. The Admiral can be quite…” She pauses and offers a tight smile, letting her audience fill in the rest before her eyes return to the open hatch that Bill has just stormed out of.

Scully can't help but feel a touch of sympathy for the President. She doesn't need to stretch her memory too far back to remember a time when she had been in a somewhat similar position, battling cancer against even worse odds. Sometimes she had felt like the only person at peace with her own condition.

“It’s understandable,” she speaks out after a beat, standing up as well and walking over to the President. “Cancer can be a frightening concept not just for the patient, but for family and loved ones as well.”

The President looks startled by her words.

“Oh, we’re not...” she says, shaking her head. “He’s not....”

“You’re friends,” Mulder offers, still in his seat. “Partners in what you do,” he adds, looking at Scully, his mind perhaps not far off from her past illness either.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Mulder,” Laura replies quickly. “Friends, yes, and Bill...the Admiral is always very concerned about those he counts among his friends.”

Mulder nods. “I understand him perfectly.”

“Yes…” Laura replies absentmindedly, her eyes traveling from Mulder to Scully. “I suppose you do. Now,” she snaps back to action, “if you excuse me, I must talk to Dr. Cottle. You may stay here if you wish, or the guard outside can show you to your own quarters if you prefer.” She pauses, fixes something like a smile on her face. “I do apologize for the... interruption to our breakfast.”

“No need to apologize,” Scully tells her. “And don’t worry about us. Go, take care of things.” It’s another feeling she can relate to, always being the one to have to handle things, and keep everyone calm in the face of unimaginable stress.

Laura, clearly already thinking ten minutes into the future, leaves them with a distracted wave of her hand and some words trailing behind her that they can’t quite make out. The hatch closes with a clang, leaving them alone in the Admiral’s quarters.

“Well,” Scully says after a beat. “That was interesting.”

“And familiar,” Mulder adds quietly. “I feel for the guy. It’s not easy watching your partner fight for her life and not being able to do a thing to help. I never felt so helpless in all my life.”

And as true as that may be, Scully knows better than most that how to proceed must be the patient’s decision. And if the President is the woman Scully believes her to be, the Admiral is taking the exact wrong approach to sharing his opinion. But then again, fear will do that.

“I can only help with the medical issues,” Scully says, pushing away her food and picking up the water glass again. “They’ll have to figure out their relationship problems on their own.”

Mulder nods seriously, and stands, soon distracted from the issue at hand by his surroundings. “Look at this place, Scully.” He walks over to a bookshelf and tilts his head sideways as he reads the titles. “This is fascinating. I wonder if the Admiral would lend me a book.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bill is already at Life Station when Laura arrives, somewhat out of breath from trying to beat him there. The man is so obvious; she had had no doubt at where he would end up, and while he had a head start, he tended to get waylaid by random crew members whenever he was trying to get somewhere quickly.

“So you don't want me to go to the planet?” she can hear Doctor Cottle ask as she walks up behind him. Bill sees her first and at least has the good sense to look abashed at being caught going behind her back.

She crosses her arms and walks around the doctor to join the conversation.

“I see you’ve started without me,” she says dryly, giving Bill a stern look.

He lets the comment pass and accepts the reprimand with downcast eyes.

“What about our guests?” he asks after a beat, glancing towards the door as if half expecting Laura to have company.

She raises an eyebrow, her mouth forming a thin line before she speaks: “Their presence didn’t seem to concern you a moment ago when you saw fit to...discontinue our breakfast.”

Bill looks down again, his jaw clenching. He still has nothing to say in his defense.

“They’re still in your quarters, I think,” Laura continues coolly. “I left the guard outside to either keep them there or take them to their own quarters as they wish. I didn’t see a reason to bring them here until we’re all on the same page.”

Doctor Cottle, who has remained silent, now clears his throat, looking from Laura to Bill. “And what page would that be, exactly?” he asks. “The Admiral here just told me you want me on that planet.”

“Yes.” Laura turns to Cottle without missing a beat. “To familiarise yourself with whatever procedures Dr. Scully can recommend.”

“It’s too risky,” Bill cuts in. “I cannot leave Galactica without a doctor.”

Laura's eyes return to Bill and they stare at each for a moment in silence, eyes locked in a wordless battle of wills.

“Doctor Cottle has made several visits to other ships before, leaving Galactica without a doctor,” Laura finally counters. "This time will be no different."

“No different?” Bill snaps, taking a step forward. “We’re talking about an unfamiliar planet, not another ship in our own fleet. What if something happens to him? It could be dangerous.”

Laura opens her mouth to argue but then snaps it shut, unable to dispute what he has just pointed out. She looks at Bill for a moment in silence until at last her lips start curving into a grim smile.

“Then maybe none of us should go,” she says slowly, uncrossing her arms and letting them fall to her sides. “I’ll face my chances here and nobody has to risk anything.”

Bill blinks, realising just a moment too late that he’s backed himself into a corner. “That’s not what I meant,” he growls.

“Then what did you mean?” Laura asks, her tone deceptively sweet. “Do you want me to have the best possible chance at recovery or don’t you?”

Bill takes several steps forward, landing firmly in her personal space. She doesn’t back away.

“Of course I want you to have the best chance of recovery,” he grinds out. “That’s why I want you to just frakking stay on the planet. Don’t think for a minute I don’t know what you’re doing here, Laura.”

She inhales sharply. “What I’m doing? What the frak…”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Dr. Cottle, who to this point had been watching the two of them with a certain amount amusement, can now practically see steam coming from his patient’s ears, and decides it’s time to intervene. “Believe it or not, I have other patients in here and I won’t have them disturbed, not even to let you two work out some of that pesky tension you refuse to dissipate in a more pleasant manner.” He reaches into his pocket for his cigarettes. “It would be more pleasant for everyone around you too, by the way,” he adds.

It’s only then that Laura notices they have the rapt attention of a marine with a broken arm, and a teenage girl she used teach on New Caprica who is being trained as a physician’s aide. She can feel her face redden.

"Admiral, care to join me in the wardroom?" she asks, then walks away without waiting for a reply.

***

“What the frak, Bill,” Laura hisses as soon Bill enters the wardroom. She waits for him to close the hatch behind him before she continues in a louder voice: “First you storm out of a breakfast meeting and then you sneak behind my back to talk to Cottle, in a room full of people!”

Bill glares at her.

“Maybe I acted rashly earlier, but I recall there being two of us causing a scene just now at the Life Station,” he replies in a low growl.

Laura can tell from the set of his shoulders and the steadfast look on his face that he has no intention of backing down. For a moment she considers riling him further by asking if he intends to throw her in the brig next, but then decides against it as counterproductive. Instead, she lets Bill release some of his fumes by pacing the room while she herself takes a seat and watches him at a distance.

Finally, when she can sense a shift in the atmosphere of the room, she starts again in a more conciliatory tone. “Bill, come on,” she calls him to pause. “Sit down. Talk to me.”

Bill stops pacing and looks over at Laura. The politician has given way to the woman. Instantly, his body relaxes and he steps towards her, pulls out a chair and sits down.

“Laura, you know what’s going on,” he says after a brief consideration. “Your cancer...it was bad enough the first time, but now…” His eyes search hers, so full of unspoken emotion that Laura can barely hold his gaze.

She doesn’t, for very long.

“I’m fine, Bill,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand, looking up at the ceiling as she blinks away unwanted moisture from her eyes.

“Yes, for now,” Bill says softly. “And if we take this opportunity we’ve been handed, you could be fine for many years to come. Even if the cancer comes back again later, we would be close to treatment and care. I can’t let you throw that away. I just can’t.” He waits for Laura to look at him again and then adds: “You’ve already more than done your duty to this fleet, and so have I.”

He’s not wrong; she knows he’s not wrong. She breathes in deeply, wishing, _wishing_ , she could just give in, just this once. But that’s not the only issue here, and only now is she really beginning to understand where he’s going with this fantasy. Bill, for all his steely, unsentimental, tough guy image, is an incurable romantic. He expects if they move to the surface of the planet, all their problems will disappear. He truly believes that curing her cancer will be a short blip in an otherwise long and happy life, just them, alone together in this strange, new world, far away from everyone they know.

It’s unrealistic in the extreme, and that’s not even considering what’s best for the fleet, which, whether or not she owes these people any more of herself, doesn’t change the fact that they are her responsibility, her people. And they’re his as well. How will they ever live with themselves if they abandon them? Lost in some poetic fantasy, he’s not thinking of that right now, but he will. And in the end, the guilt would destroy them both.

She leans forward on her elbows, deciding not to mince words. “Bill, you need to think this through. If we go down there together, leave the fleet, and I… I die.” The word comes out high and ragged, and she has to stop and breathe in deeply before continuing, jumping over the details to the conclusion. “I can’t be your whole world. I can’t. And even if I live, the fleet will be gone, you’ll be without your ship, without your crew. Without your son. Is that what you want? Do you really think you could live with that?”

He stares at her for a moment, jaw twitching, clearly _furious_ with her, and she knows he hasn’t heard a single word after die, and isn’t that the whole problem, right there? “You need to be realistic, Bill. This isn’t a fairytale. We’re not going to move to a new planet and live happily ever after.”

“Why not?” he demands, shoving back his chair and standing up. “Don’t we deserve a happy ending after everything we’ve been through?

Suddenly she’s just beyond exhausted, and she doesn’t even bother blinking the tears away this time. Let him see. She can’t fight this fight one moment longer. Standing herself, she walks around the table until she’s standing right in front of him, close enough to touch. “Gods, Bill. When have you ever known anyone to get what they deserve?”

Bill shakes his head, still refusing to hear what Laura is saying. She can see the fear lurking behind his anger and frustration, but there is nothing she can do to drive them away.

“No, Laura,” he says without answering her question. “I won’t accept this. I can’t.”

Laura exhales, bending her head down for a moment as she tries to regroup. There is much that can be said about politics being frustrating, but none of it quite compares to the sheer impossibility of trying to make Bill Adama see reason when he has made up his mind.

Finally, Laura looks up again, smiles tiredly and reaches out to smooth the fabric of Bill’s uniform over his chest.

“Bill, you have to start thinking about this rationally,” she says at last, her voice as soothing as she can manage. “Do you remember the day I made you an Admiral?”

Bill looks at her for a moment, puzzled by the sudden question, then nods his head. It's not a day he's likely to ever forget, and they both know it.

“I was happy to do it for you, for your own merits,” Laura continues, “but more than anything I did it for the benefit of the fleet. They needed a leader and I had to be sure they would have one." She pauses for a beat. "They still need a leader, Bill. Perhaps more than ever, especially after I’m gone.”

She regrets her last words as soon as they have come out of her mouth and can instantly tell from the look on Bill's face that everything she said before that has been in vain.

“Then they should start looking for a new one,” Bill replies through his teeth, taking a step back. There is hurt in his eyes that even his anger can’t mask. “I can’t do this without you anymore,” he says as he starts walking away. “It doesn't make a damned bit of difference whether I'm here or on that frakking planet.”

This time, Laura lets him go.

***

Mulder and Scully have settled into opposite corners of the Admiral’s big leather sofa, feet up, each with a well-worn book open in their laps. Mulder had enthusiastically chosen a thick tome on the history of the Cylon war, while Scully had opted for a mystery novel. As long as she pretends the unfamiliar setting is the result of a science fiction B plot, it serves well enough as the escape from reality she currently craves.

They have been reading in silence for nearly an hour when the hatch finally clangs open and the Admiral appears, stony-faced and alone.

“Dr. Scully, Mr. Mulder,” he says gruffly, “final preparations have been made for your return to the planet. The guard will take you to the launch bay now. Anything you left in guest quarters will be brought to you. I apologize for the inconvenience my pilots caused you by bringing you here in the first place, and I thank you for your patience.”

Falling silent, he walks to the drink cart, pours himself two fingers of an amber liquid and slams it back.

Mulder and Scully exchange worried glances as they rise from the sofa. They had been under the impression the Admiral would be accompanying the President for her medical workup.

“Aren’t you coming with us, sir?” Scully asks, closing her book at setting it on the coffee table.

“No,” he says shortly. He picks up the decanter of alcohol again, seems about to pour a second shot, then sets it down and refills his glass with water instead.

Scully tries again. “But the President…”

Adama does not allow her to finish. “What President Roslin does or does not do is entirely her own concern and has nothing to do with me. I’ve made arrangements for a crew to accompany her if she so chooses, but that will be the extent of the military’s involvement.”

Scully’s mouth drops open and she turns to Mulder, who shrugs helplessly. The man clearly will not welcome any further input on the subject. But he does have another question.

“Admiral Adama, would you mind if I borrowed this book during the time your people are on Earth? I’ll see it’s returned to them before they leave,” Mulder asks, holding up the text.

A ghost of a smile briefly graces the older man’s face. “Keep it, Mr Mulder. Consider it a gift. I never lend books."

“Thank you,” Mulder replies. He hesitates a moment and glances towards the hatch, knowing there’s a guard outside waiting to take them away, but not quite ready yet to bid goodbye to the Admiral. He can tell that something isn’t sitting quite right with the older man - something he might be able to help him with.

“You have been a very kind host,” he starts. “Well, after the initial...misapprehension at least,” he amends upon receiving a look from Scully. “Is there anything we can do for you in return?”

Adama looks surprised by Mulder’s words. Then he shakes his head.

“No, I don’t believe so, Mr. Mulder,” he says, suddenly sounding very tired. “Whatever Dr. Scully can do for the President is already more than I could ask for.”

“And what about you?” Mulder presses carefully.

The Admiral frowns. “Me?”

Mulder nods. “I know from personal experience how helpless one feels when someone you…” He hesitates on the right word. “Someone you care about is battling cancer.” His eyes instinctively dart to Scully who is now listening with rapt attention. He turns back to Adama.

“Forgive my frankness, sir,” he continues. “I don’t claim to know the nature of your relationship with the President, and it’s not really even relevant, but it’s clear to me that you care about her a great deal.”

Adama grunts something unintelligible in return, but it’s not exactly the vehement denial Mulder was half expecting. He decides to proceed.

“All this can’t be easy for you. I know it wasn’t for me,” he says, taking a few steps towards the Admiral and placing a hand on his shoulder. “So if there’s anything at all I can do for you…” He trails off, looking at the Admiral expectantly.

Instead of replying, the Admiral looks down at his feet, swirling the glass of water in his hands, lost in thought. For a moment Mulder wonders if he has heard him at all.

Finally he looks up again, meeting Mulder’s eyes with what seems to be compassion. “Who was it?” he asks. “This person you cared about?”


	10. Chapter 10

“Who was it?” Mulder repeats, glancing at Scully, not certain it’s his place to reveal his partner’s private medical history.

She clears her throat and takes half a step forward. “I think he’s talking about me, Admiral.”

The Admiral’s head jerks upward. “You, Dr. Scully? You have cancer?”

“Had. Yes,” she explains. “I’ve been in remission for more than two years now, but I had a brain tumor. It was a very trying time...for both of us. I think it’s fair to say Mulder finds helplessness and inaction...difficult...to accept.”

“More like impossible. I refused to believe there was any possibility she wouldn’t survive,” Mulder says.

“And you were correct,” the Admiral points out.

“I was correct,” Mulder agrees, “and words are not nearly sufficient to convey how glad I am that I was, but sir, my believing it wasn't enough. She needed to believe. And that was something she had to come to in her own time. All I could do was be who she needed me to be to help her understand the truth of her situation.”

The Admiral looks from one them to the to the other, his expression giving nothing away. “Thank you,” he says after a moment. “I appreciate the attempt at empathy, but this is a private matter I prefer not to discuss with virtual strangers. I’m sure you understand.”

“Yes, of course,” Mulder says, but the Admiral has already turned back to the drink cart.

As the two FBI agents leave the room, their eyes catch, and each knows the other is thinking the same thing. _Some conclusions one must come to alone._

***

By the time Mulder and Scully are led to the launch bay, the President has already arrived and is standing by an aircraft that looks identical to the one they had originally been brought in on.

Scully’s eyes shift back from the aircraft to the President in time to catch the moment she notices their arrival, and she is almost certain she can see the President’s face fall as she counts the group. It’s an almost imperceptible shift of expression, but enough to convince Scully that she had been, if not expecting, then at least hoping that the Admiral would accompany them.

By the time they actually reach the President, however, her expression has resumed its previous air of detachment.

“Mr. Mulder, Dr. Scully,” she greets them with cool politeness and Scully notices now that, like Mulder, she is clutching a book in her hands. Perhaps another one from the Admiral’s collection?

The President seems to notice where Scully’s eyes have landed.

“I always like to have something to read when I travel,” she says with a smile that appears almost wistful, some of her coolness melting away. Behind her, a marine seems to be carrying a small, well worn bag that must be the sum of her luggage. For a President, it's not a lot.

A beat passes in what feels like an expectant silence, and then the President speaks again, her eyes darting to the door at the back of the hangar bay that Mulder and Scully had recently walked through.

“The Admiral?” she asks. It’s a very simple question, but loaded with a great deal more complexity.

Scully meets her eyes and then shakes her head sympathetically.

“He had some things to take care of,” Mulder speaks up for the first time. “I’m sure he will….”

The President doesn’t let him finish. She straightens her back and then sweeps around to take her bag from the marine.

“It’s probably for the best that the Admiral stays with the fleet,” she says composedly as the turns back, blinking rapidly a couple of times. She pauses one more time to look over at the door and then shakes her head, turning her eyes to the aircraft instead. “We had better get going before we miss our launch window.”

Scully looks around the launch bay. Apart from the two marines accompanying the President and the one guard accompanying herself and Mulder, they appear to be alone.

“Do you have anyone to accompany you?” she asks.

She has barely spoken the words when the familiar face of Doctor Cottle peeks out from the entrance of the aircraft.

“Are you all coming or not?” he asks grumpily. “Because if we’re waiting for the Admiral, I’m going to pop out to have a cigarette, or five.”

“Dr. Cottle, you’re coming!” Scully exclaims happily, pleased to see her counterpart. If the President can't be convinced to stay on Earth for treatment, which seems more and more likely, at least she can train the other doctor on the most prudent course of treatment.

“I live to serve,” Cottle says wryly, before turning back to Laura. “Where’s the old man?”

The President’s mask slips momentarily, leaving her looking more than a little bit lost as she glances once more behind them. Seeing no one, she begins to cough, covering her mouth with her hands, then turns her back on the group, walking  a couple of steps away. From behind the others can see her hands move up to swipe at her eyes.

Noticing Scully take a tentative step in Laura’s direction, Cottle swiftly shakes his head, then jumps down from the aircraft and lights a cigarette, beckoning the others forward. Scully, understanding, turns her back on the other woman to offer her some modicum of privacy.

After an awkwardly quiet moment, in which Cottle smokes furiously and Mulder and Scully examine the deck plating, Laura rejoins the group, eyes streaked red. She clears her throat before finally answering the doctor’s earlier question. “There’s no need to wait, Jack. The Admiral apparently has more important things to do.”

“The frak I do,” comes a gruff voice from behind them.

Laura spins around at the sound of the voice and lets out a shaky, relieved breath when she sees Bill striding towards them.

He comes to a halt in front of the group, his eyes zeroing in on Laura.

“I hope you weren’t thinking of leaving without me,” he says, barely registering the rest of the people present.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” Laura replies, taking in Bill’s appearance. He has discarded his military uniform and donned civilian clothes she hasn’t seen on him since New Caprica.

Of course it makes sense if they want to try to blend in.

“You’ll need a pilot,” he says by way of explanation, even as his eyes speak of other motives.

Laura smiles, then glances towards the cockpit. “What about Lee?”

“He is more needed here, to lead the Vipers if necessary,” Bill replies. “We don’t know how long this is going to take,” he adds softly.

They stand facing each other for a moment, both having more to say but both all too aware of the audience they have.

Finally, the silence is broken by Cottle who has finished his cigarette.

“So, are we going or not?” he asks, looking from Bill to Laura.

For the first time, Bill seems to notice his presence.

“You’re coming too?” he asks. There’s still a hint of challenge in his voice.

The doctor shrugs. “President’s orders.”

Before Bill can argue, or remind him that he is his commanding officer, Cottle adds: “We need more medical supplies and drugs for the entire fleet. There’s no way I’m not getting on this flight.”

The matter is settled.

***

The President takes the co-pilot’s seat next to the Admiral, while Cottle, Mulder and Scully sprawl in the back of the aircraft they've learned is called a Raptor, along with the President’s guard who is currently serving double-duty as ECO.

Mulder leans over Scully to speak quietly to the doctor. “So what’s with those two, anyway?” He jerks his head forward to indicate the cockpit. “They banging?”

“Mulder!” Scully exclaims, eyebrows flying upwards as she twists around to glare at her partner.

“Oh, like you don’t want to know too,” Mulder returns, poking her leg.

The doctor guffaws loudly. “And pull their heads out of their asses long enough to realize the fleet won’t vapourize if they have a little fun? Right.” He rolls his eyes.

A strangled noise that could have been a cough, but probably wasn’t, comes from the guard working at the instrumentation panel with his back to them.

“And what about you two,” Cottle continues. “Are you...banging, was it?” He pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips without lighting it.

Scully’s mouth falls open as her face turns beet-red, but Mulder just laughs, and claps Cottle on the back. “Wondering if you have a shot, old man?”

Cottle harrumphs and turns a little pink himself, suddenly finding something in the instrumentation of great interest.

Mulder pokes Scully a couple more times until she rolls her eyes to show she’s not really angry, then opens his book, settling in for the remainder of the flight.

As silence falls in the back of the aircraft, Scully decides to take a moment to observe her surroundings. With all its bleeping monitors and state of the art technology, even with the apparent wear and tear that speaks of long term use, this Raptor is certainly unlike anything she has ever seen.

She tries to make sense of the instrumentation that Cottle is poring over, but finds the data too difficult to understand. From a small window on the opposite side, she can see nothing but what looks like space.

“Where are we now, exactly?” she asks, hoping to find out more. “How much longer to….” Scully catches herself, realizing she had almost said Earth. “...to home,” she finishes, still not quite ready to admit out loud that they have been somewhere other than Earth.

Cottle glances at Scully and then points at a dot on the monitor.

“Well, you know these parts better than I do,” he says, “but we’re just about to pass this little moon that orbits your planet. Do you have a name for it?”

Scully hesitates for a moment. She glances at Mulder who, despite still having his eyes on his book, is sporting an amused grin.

Scully sighs. “We call it Moon,” she replies a little defensively.

The Doctor raises his eyebrows and then turns back to his monitors, shaking his head as he mutters something about lack of imagination.

“Just a couple of hours, I’d say,” he says after a pause, returning to Scully’s original question. “I think the Admiral is aiming for a landing at dawn, so I recommend a nap while you can.”

***

Up in the front of the Raptor, Laura has been attempting to do just that, but has found herself unable to keep her eyes closed for long. Again and again, they drift open, drawn to Bill’s face as he frowns in concentration at the control panel. _False_ concentration, in her estimation, as she has flown with him often enough to know he can do this with...well, with his eyes closed.

Her theory seems confirmed when Bill’s lips first press together tightly, the widen into a toothy grin. “Is there something on my face?” he asks without turning his head.

She hums a little, infusing it with a questioning lilt as she shifts in her seat, tucking her legs up underneath her. There is just no comfortable position in a Raptor seat, but still she tries.

“You’re staring,” he clarifies, though of course she knew what he meant.

She doesn’t answer right away, waiting until he looks over at her, and only then does she return his smile. “I’m glad you’re here,  Bill.” She stretches her hand out across the gap between their seats.

He accepts the gesture, his large hand engulfing her smaller one as he squeezes it gently.

Nothing is really resolved, Laura knows. She hasn’t changed her mind about not being treated on the planet, and no doubt Bill hasn’t altered his stance either. They still need to talk. She’s not sure what they’re waiting for actually - those in the back of the Raptor can’t hear them over the hum of the engines. But maybe… They seem to have turned some kind of corner. Maybe the results of their conversation will need visual privacy as well as auditory.

Maybe...

She closes her eyes again when Bill returns to his instrument panel and imagines. Before she knows it, imagination turns to dreams. 

***

A steady hand grips her arm, shaking her gently. She jolts awake. “What...where?” She’s disoriented, set on the edge of panic by the dark, unfamiliar surroundings, but when she turns her head and sees Bill, everything falls back into place. She breathes deeply and her heart rate slowing to normal.

“Sorry, to wake you,” he says gently. “But I didn’t want you to miss that view.”

There, directly in front of them and growing ever closer, lies Earth - blue and green, peppered with white cloud formations, and so much more beautiful up close than the grainy images they had received before could ever have prepared them for.

“It’s beautiful,” Laura breathes, leaning forward in her seat. “Just as I always thought Earth would look.”

Bill watches as she stares reverentially out the window at the distant planet, and can’t help but think that, as beautiful and awe-inspiring this view is, Laura herself is so much more so.

“Breathtaking,” he agrees.

“If only this was our Earth,” she says wistfully, not noticing the direction in which he's looking.

 _Maybe it can be_ , he thinks but does not say.


	11. Chapter 11

Bill sets down the Raptor at the same remote location Lee and Kara had landed the two previous times and the six of them emerge from the small craft just as the sun clears the horizon.

The four Colonials stop and stare with awe at their surroundings - the towering trees, the birds circling high in the blue sky, the wildflowers dotting the clearing. With the dubious exception of New Caprica, it’s been years since any of them had seen anything like the splendours of nature before them now.

Laura’s hands rise to cover her mouth and she blinks rapidly, as Bill swears softly under his breath. Even the gruff doctor turns away from the others, swiping at his eyes.

Mulder and Scully give their new friends a moment to recover, then Mulder clears his throat. “I’ll call my contacts immediately to get to work on identification for all of you. In the meantime, I think the four of you should stay at Scully’s place - it's cleaner than mine.

Scully is a bit startled by this suggestion, but doesn't raise any objections. She has a spare room and a couch that can be turned into a double bed. It might feel a bit crowded but it’s probably best they get their IDs sorted before they start considering other accommodation options.

“The three of us,” Bill corrects. “Eric here will stay with the Raptor.”

The guard nods and briefly touches his sidearm. “Yes sir.”

***

The car is where Mulder and Scully had left it, parked on the side of an old logging road a few minutes’ trek from the landing spot.

As soon as they reach the road, Laura lets out a soft gasp, looking at the very unremarkable vehicle in wonder.

“It looks so similar to our cars,” she breathes, nudging Bill who has paused by her side. “So similar,” she repeats in disbelief, shaking her head slightly.

“A bit on the dated side,” Cottle remarks, but he, too, looks a little shaken by the unexpectedly familiar sight.

Bill says nothing but places his hand on top of Laura’s on his own arm and gives it a squeeze.

“How long do you think it will take to get our new identities in order?” Laura asks as they approach the car.

“I’ll know more after I talk to my contacts, but not long I don’t think,” Mulder replies. “As long as I can manage to make the request without piquing their curiosity too much, it should go smoothly.”

Scully has been concerned about what to say to the Gunmen as well. In the past, it has been a bit of a balancing act to get the help they need, without inspiring them to provide a little too much of it. No doubt Laura would like to maintain as much privacy as possible, and there is absolutely no way they can let the guys know anything about the Raptor. They’d have it in a million pieces in about five seconds flat. _Reverse-engineering_ , she can hear Langly calling it now.

Laura doesn’t seem overly concerned by the details, and just nods in response, her attention still mostly on her surroundings.

“In the meantime,” Mulder suggests, “How about breakfast? I think we can probably do better than algae. Bacon and eggs? Coffee?”

Laura actually moans aloud, earning an intense look from the Admiral, and Cottle doesn't even bother to hide his amusement. Chuckling, he starts for the cars. “Let’s get this show on the road, then. Hey, do people smoke on this planet?"

Scully shoots him a stern look.

“Not in my car,” she snaps. When the doctor raises his hands in surrender, she relents: “You’ll be able to buy cigarettes here, if that’s what you meant. People do smoke, unfortunately.”

“Buy…” Laura hums absently. They all turn to look at her as she turns to Bill. “What are we going to use to pay for anything here?” she asks, then turns to Scully: “What is your currency?”

“American dollars,” Mulder replies before Scully can open her mouth. “I assume you don’t have any of those.”

Laura shakes her head. They have been so wrapped up in everything else that the simple question of money hadn’t even entered her mind. She chastises herself now for such gross oversight.

“Our economy for the past few years hasn’t exactly been based on regular currency,” Bill chimes in, perhaps to explain why money hasn’t been first and foremost on their minds. “Ours has been...more of a trade based economy.”

“Well, there you go,” Mulder replies. By now they have all reached the car and he opens a door on the driver’s side. “I’m sure a civilization such as yours will have something you will be able to exchange for money. The breakfast, however...” he adds cheerfully, “...is on me. It’s the least I can do.”

***

After spending breakfast discussing theories of how the similarities between their civilizations could have come to be, Mulder and Scully drop their guests off at Scully’s apartment with instructions to make themselves at home, then depart to pay a visit to their favourite hackers.

“I don’t know about this, Mulder. Do you really think they won’t know we’re hiding something?” she asks as she fastens her seatbelt. Knowing the Gunmen as she does, she expects they will instantly realize she and Mulder aren’t telling them the whole story and go to great lengths to determine what it is.

Mulder pulls out of her parking lot and turns left, heading away from the city. “Of course they will. Which is why, Dr. Scully, we’re going to tell them exactly what we’re doing.”

Scully turns to her partner, open-mouthed. “What? Mulder, we can’t. God only knows what they would try to do to that ship if they find out about it. And you saw that weapon the guard had. He’ll kill them! Those ships are all these people have. They’re not going to let anyone mess with them.”

“You misunderstand me,” Mulder says patiently. “What I mean is, we tell the Gunmen we have a _friend_ with cancer,” he looks at Scully meaningfully before continuing, “and you want to treat her anonymously, so we need to put her in the system.”

Understanding dawning, Scully picks up on his train of thought. “And they’ll assume she’s another abductee. Another victim of the Syndicate.”

“Exactly,” Mulder says, flicking on his turn signal, then pulling off the road onto a laneway with two parallel tire tracks rutted into the packed earth, weeds growing up between and beside them. “They’ll think they know just enough about the situation to not ask too many questions.”

“And Dr. Cottle and the Admiral?”

“It’s perfectly natural that the patient’s husband and primary physician will want to be involved in her treatment and as such they need false identities as well.”

***

In the end, the visit to the Gunmen goes much more smoothly than Scully could have expected. There are questions, of course, as there always are, but nothing they don’t manage to dodge tolerably well.

After several minutes of busy typing and clicking on the computer in complete silence, Frohike pushes back his chair and looks at Scully triumphantly, pointing at his screen. Scully and Mulder both step forward and lean close to squint at the three very real looking ID card samples on it.

“Laura and William...Adams?” Scully reads on the cards.

“From Baltimore,” Langly chimes in. “She’s a librarian, he’s a retired...uh...florist.”

Mulder and Scully exchange a surreptitious grin.

“And the Doctor?” Mulder asks, trying to see the details on the card at the bottom of the screen.

“A GP, also from Baltimore,” Langley explains. “Couldn’t find a Cottle in our database to use, so he’s Sherman Cody now.”

“That’ll do,” Mulder replies with a shrug. The names, really, are of no consequence. “And the insurance?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Adams are well provided for,” Byers steps in. He has already printed a pile of documents, which he is currently tucking into a folder.

“Thank you,” Scully says, truly grateful. “You have been invaluable to us once again.”

All three accept her thanks with modesty, their work still not quite finished.

“Where did you meet these people anyway?” Frohike asks after a short while. He is putting finishing touches on the ID cards, looking carefully at the pictures Mulder had had the foresight to take of their guests before leaving them at Scully’s.

“She’s pretty,” he adds, pointing at the picture of Laura.

Scully tries to bite back a smile as Mulder leans in to whisper something about Frohike and redheads.

“We were introduced by a mutual friend,” she replies then, fully serious again. “By another cancer patient. I examined her myself and, considering how early stages her cancer is, I thought if we can get the treatment started without delay, she could have a shot at full recovery. Unfortunately Laura's own insurance doesn't cover the treatment she needs, and they have almost no savings.”

Frohike nods. “Poor woman,” he sighs, shaking his head as he turns back to his screen. “But this…” he makes a few more clicks and then presses ‘enter’ with some flourish, bringing the attached printer-like machine to life as it starts working on the cards. “...this should be her ticket to all the medical aid she needs.”

"And Mr. Adams should be able to collect social security if he wishes," Byers points out, looking pleased with himself. "He is, after all, retired."

That would certainly help to solve their visitors’ cashflow problems, though Scully can’t fathom the proud Admiral deigning to accept any amount of money under false pretenses.

“We’ll tell him,” Mulder says, as he accepts the folder from Byers and the cards from Frohike. “As always, a pleasure doing business. We’ll be in touch if our friends need anything else.” He passes the cards to Scully, who pockets them.

Langly and Byers bid them goodbye, as Frohike, in front of his screen again with his back to them, tosses off an insouciant salute. “Give my best to the lovely Laura,” he calls, as Mulder pushes open the door to the trailer, holds it for Scully, then follows her out.

***

At Scully’s apartment, Bill, Laura, and Cottle have made themselves as comfortable as they know how in a foreign home, on a foreign planet. Laura has taken the opportunity to get some rest on the couch while Cottle is focused on the TV set, trying to get the hang of the remote. Bill, meanwhile, has found a bookcase and is going through the titles with interest.

Eventually, he pulls one out to inspect it more closely.

“Look at this,” he calls out for the others, holding the book up. “They have square pages.”

The doctor glances in his direction, harrumphs, and then turns his attention back on the TV, but Laura sits up and looks at the book with more interest.

“It’s fascinating,” she says, almost tempted to stand up and inspect the volume closer. “Do you know,” she adds thoughtfully after a short pause, “that we used to favour the square model, too, a long time ago? A very long time ago.”

“I remember reading about it,” Bill replies, turning the book in his hands. “Looks a bit clumsy.”

“Well, they are behind us in many ways,” Laura agrees.

“Not in medicine, though,” Cottle points out, his eyes still on the TV which he has now managed to turn on. “They have been focusing on keeping their people alive while we’ve been building machines that want to kill us.”

Bill harrumphs, but doesn’t reply, since he can’t really argue which society's priorities were superior. Crossing the room, he sits down on the couch beside Laura, who immediately relieves him of the book, turning it over in her hands to see the title.

“Moby-Dick, or The Whale” she reads, just as the sound of footsteps reaches her ears.

“It’s about one man’s obsession with destroying at all costs the creature he believes has wronged him,” Mulder explains from the now-open apartment doorway. “I suspect you would relate more to the whale than to his pursuer.”


	12. Chapter 12

Laura curls her lip in distaste, and hands the book back to Bill, who stands to return it to its spot on the bookshelf, as the two FBI agents join the group in the living room. Cottle coaxes the television into silence as Bill retakes his seat on the couch.

Dipping her hand into her coat pocket, Scully retrieves the three id cards, passing one to each of her guests, who examine them with interest.

“A-Dahms?” Bill reads. “That’s an odd name.

“We pronounce it Add-ams, sir,” Scully explains. “It’s actually a pretty common name. Even two of our presidents were Adamses. I promise no one will question it.”

Bill makes a face, conceding the point, but still clearly considering the name inferior to his own.

“There seems to be some mistake,” Laura interjects, glancing from Scully to Bill and back. “This says my last name is also Adams.”

Mulder and Scully’s eyes meet as the consider they probably should have asked the bride and groom’s opinions on the matter before marrying them off. Mulder shrugs. There’s nothing to be done about it now. “Yes, ma’am,” he explains. “We figured the easiest way to explain the Admiral’s presence was to say he’s your husband.”

“That way he’ll automatically be your next of kin and will be much more involved with every step of your treatment. If you wish him to be, of course,” Scully adds.

Laura instinctively glances at Bill whose face makes it no secret what _his_ wishes are. She also can’t really deny that she would prefer to keep Bill as close as possible in this world that, though in many ways eerily familiar, is still completely foreign to her. Finally, she nods her assent.

“Good. It makes sense,” she agrees. “We should keep this as simple as possible and if that means that Bill and I are to play married, then so be it. Thank you,” she adds, looking from Scully to Mulder. “Both of you. You have been very helpful.”

“Sherman?” Cottle’s voice interrupts them then before either Mulder or Scully can respond. He is turning his card over in his hands as he squints at it. “What sort of a name is Sherman?”

“Ah, our friends had trouble finding a close match for your name in their database,” Mulder explains apologetically.

Cottle looks at him for a moment but then shrugs, pocketing his card. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter, as long as it works,” he reasons.

“Exactly,” Bill agrees. “We truly are very grateful.”

“It has been our pleasure,” Mulder replies modestly. Then he seems to remember the folder he has been carrying and hands it to Bill and Laura on the couch. “I almost forgot,” he adds. “This folder should have all the other papers you need, including the details of your insurance and brief summaries of who you are here on Earth. Or who Mr. and Mrs. Adams and Dr. Cody are. You should probably go over them and see if any questions arise before we decide on our next step.”

Laura take the file and opens it in her lap, flipping through the pages. This whole situation is beginning to remind her of a drama class she took in college. It could actually be an amusing distraction, playing at being someone else for awhile. She quickly finds the character summaries, hands Bill and Jack theirs, then retrieves her glasses from her pocket and slides them on.

“Well-educated,” she summarises as she reads. “A librarian, two years younger than me, married to William for 25 years, no children. Swims every morning. Hopefully no one asks me about your local books, but otherwise, I think I like her.” She hums with approval and slides the page back in the folder, then looks at Bill expectantly.

He looks down at his paper. “William Adams, goes by Will - that will be an adjustment. He’s a retired…” He looks up at Mulder and Scully, frowning, “...florist?”

Laura’s jaw drops in shock, then she bursts into peals of delighted laughter, falling back against the couch cushions.

Bill watches her, stony-faced at first, then giving in and cracking a smile, appreciating the humour in the incongruity, but mostly, just happy to see her laugh like that again.

“It’s funny, we get it,” he says, not even trying to keep a straight face. “These big mitts handling delicate flowers.” He shakes his head ruefully.

Laura, holding her stomach, takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to get her mirth under control. “It’s okay, Bill,” she gasps around errant giggles, “I’m sure your fingers are quite talented.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he retorts, forgetting for a moment that they aren’t alone in the room.

Laura freezes, open-mouthed, then gives him a look that could melt pavement, but before he has time to truly appreciate it, she waves the subject away. “What about you, Jack? Tell us about Sherman.”

“Well, if you two are quite finished,” he says, clearly enjoying the slight blush that appears even on the Admiral’s usually inscrutable face. He waits for a beat and then goes on: “Sherman, apparently, is a widower. No children. He lives on his own and has his own practice.” Cottle flips the page. “Then there’s a number of qualifications I won’t bore you with,” he says, skimming the list. “Probably best make sure I learn these, though, if anyone asks,” he adds.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Scully replies and then turns to Laura and Bill. “I’m sure nobody will really care about your personal lives at the hospital as long as your insurance is in order, but it’s probably best to think of a few conversation pieces based on your information in case a nurse wants to chat a bit during a procedure.”

Laura nods. “That’s probably a good idea,” she agrees, then adds: “I would also like to learn some names of places in this area, if you have a map of some kind, because it says here were are from Baltimore, but that means nothing to me.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Scully replies. She should have thought of it before, really, and wonders if the fact that she didn’t is because a part of her still finds it difficult to believe that these people, who so clearly are human, could somehow be extraterrestrial.

“Here,” she says as she pulls out a large atlas off her bookshelf and hands it to Bill who is seated closer. “You will find the whole world in it, but right now we are in a city called Washington D.C.” She pauses to wait as Bill opens the table of contents at the back and locates the correct page. “Baltimore is quite close, to the north-east,” she adds when Bill has the page open. “Right there.”

Scully lets Bill and Laura pore over the page for a while, watching as they mouth the names they see on the map.

“I’ll call the hospital today to try to get you an appointment as soon as possible,” she says eventually. Having given it some thought, she has decided it’s best if they stick as close to the truth as possible. “I’ll tell them that your GP, Dr. Cody, has made a preliminary cancer diagnosis, and I confirmed the results when he called me for a consult. You’ve now come to Washington, upon my recommendation, to receive a treatment plan based on further tests.”

Laura smiles. “Which is exactly what has happened.”

Scully returns the older woman’s smile. This entire situation must be incredibly difficult for her, but she’s handling it with such grace and humour, Scully can’t help but admire her. She has an incredible strength of spirit. “Mulder and I should probably go into the office for the afternoon before they send someone looking for us. Will you three be okay here alone?”

“I think so,” Laura says, glancing at Bill, who looks up from the atlas to nod in agreement. “We’re all still on Galactica time and could probably use some extra sleep. And I know Bill is itching to dive into more of your books.

Mulder has been fiddling with a small electronic device, which he now passes to Cottle, who is closest to him. “This is what we call a cell phone. It’s like the communication equipment I saw you use on Galactica, except you can carry it around with you. Perhaps you had something similar on your homeworlds.”

Cottle snorts, and passes it right back, gesturing at Laura. “Give that to her; I don’t want it.”

Smirking, Mulder crosses the room and proceeds to demonstrate to both Laura and Bill how they can contact himself or Scully in case of emergency, or if they have any questions about their unfamiliar surroundings.

“Don’t hesitate to call,” Scully reiterates as she emerges from the bedroom, where she went to change while Mulder explained about the phone. “If you want to go outside, there’s an extra key in that drawer there.  And help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you’re hungry, but I’ll bring home dinner too.

Bill and Laura murmur their thanks as Cottle stands up and heads for the drawer.

“I think I’ll head out for a smoke,” he says as he fishes out the key. “That is, if you’re happy to stay here for a while,” he adds, turning to Bill and Laura.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Bill assures the doctor, barely lifting his eyes from the atlas.

Laura makes no protest either and watches as Mulder, Scully, and Cottle all pile out of the apartment together, Cottle promising to be back shortly but probably not too soon.

She waits until the door is closed and then turns to Bill who immediately puts his book down, meeting her eyes.

“This is…” Laura says, and her voice suddenly breaks as she gestures the apartment. “All this life, so similar to ours, when we thought we were the only ones left. It almost still feels like a dream.”

Bill nods. The last few hours have been overwhelming to say the least, but in a good way.

“Life is full of surprises,” he says for lack of anything better to say. The comment falls a little flat, but it would be difficult to properly put into words everything they have recently experienced.

Laura hums her agreement, letting her eyes travel around the apartment as she mentally maps every item that looks somewhat familiar, as if distant echoes from a life that no longer exists.

“It’s hard to think of the rest of the fleet, surviving out there on algae when we have everything we could ever wish to eat here,” she says at last and then pauses, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of the fleet. “You know, if something was happening to them right now, we would know nothing about it.”

Bill stiffens a little at her words, but then exhales and lets his shoulders relax.

“They’re in good hands,” he says steadily, taking Laura’s hand into his. He has to believe it. For his son, and for Saul, and Kara. For all of them. “Helo has proven himself to be an excellent commander, and Saul...he always comes through when the going gets tough.” He pauses and gives Laura’s hand a squeeze. “It’s you we have to focus on now.”

Laura glances away, heart sinking. The hope in his eyes is almost too painful to bear. “For now, Bill, yes,” she says gently. “For however long these tests take. No longer. I haven’t changed my mind. Dr. Cottle will provide treatment on Galactica. The fleet must stay together. All of us. It’s the way things have to be.”

***

Jack lifts a hand in farewell as Mulder and Scully pass him in Scully’s car on their way out of the parking lot. A nice young couple, he thinks, though they seem to be yet another pair that can’t quite get their crap together long enough to actually _be_ a couple. Much like a certain Admiral and President he knows.

He paces as he smokes, wandering from one end of the back of the building to the other, the nicotine doing its job of calming his frazzled nerves. This planet, no matter how much it resembles Caprica, is just...not. The air tastes slightly different; the sun is the wrong size in a sky that’s a funny shade of blue. And even though Bill swears he shouldn’t notice any difference in the gravitational pull, his feet feel heavy against the ground.

And tomorrow, some young whippersnapper is going to show him how to heal his president. And for that, he’ll deal with everything else this world wants to throw at him.

Pulling another cigarette from his breast pocket, he lights it with the remains of its predecessor, then tosses the butt away. Walking to the edge of the parking lot, he stands facing away from the building looking at the city beyond, smoking furiously.

“Nice view.”

Jack’s head whips to the left to find another man has appeared at his side, seemingly out of nowhere, so quietly as to almost make him wonder if the residents of this planet have mastered teleportation.

“Seen one city, seen ‘em all,” he replies with more nonchalance than he feels.

The newcomer is about his age, maybe a little younger, with thick dark hair shot through with grey, and watery hazel eyes. He wears a suit and tie under an long black overcoat and has a cigarette of his own held between finger and thumb.

“Ah, but you’ve come a long way to see this one, haven’t you?” the man asks through a cloud of smoke.


	13. Chapter 13

Cottle takes a slow drag on his own cigarette and uses the time it buys him to take another look at this stranger. He doesn’t like what he sees. There isn’t any particular thing he can name that rubs him the wrong way, but something about the man certainly does not sit right with him.

Finally, he puffs out the smoke in his lungs and meets the stranger’s eyes without flinching, determined to get rid of him as quickly as possible without revealing anything about himself if he can help it.

“Baltimore?” He feigns confusion, thankful, for once, for his military training. “I wouldn’t say it’s such a long way, but I suppose everything is relative.” He pauses to draw on his cigarette again. “Some people live their whole lives without venturing beyond their hometowns.”

The man looks at him for a moment, his carefully constructed mask slipping just long enough to reveal a touch of annoyance on his face as he accepts Cottle’s answer. Then he smiles, an unpleasant expression trying to pass for a friendly one.

“Yes, of course,” he says, flicking away the remains of his cigarette. “I find traveling always widens one’s horizons.”

“Quite so,” Cottle agrees, not sure what else to say. He waits for a moment for the man to continue, but when he remains silent, Cottle clears his throat and starts making his excuses for departing.

The man lets him speak but, just as Cottle is about to turn around and walk away, he extends his hand, holding a card between his fingers.

“I’m not your enemy,” he says in a silky voice that makes his words difficult to believe. “Perhaps we can continue our conversation another time,” he adds as Cottle, too curious to refuse, takes the card.

It has nothing on it except a series of digits that together must form some kind of a contact number. It looks similar enough to the number and letter combinations used in Colonial comm devices.

“Thank you, Mr…” Cottle starts, but when he looks up again, the stranger is nowhere to be seen.

***

“You’d think we were gone for a month instead of a day and half,” Scully comments, sifting through the piles of paperwork on Mulder’s basement desk.

“No rest for the wicked,” he quips, turning a page in the newspaper sports section, his feet propped up on the only corner of the desk not covered in paper.

Scully stares at him for a second. “Clearly,” she says, then shoves his feet off desk, throwing him off balance to the point where he almost falls sideways out of his chair.

“All right, all right,” he concedes, holding his hands up in defeat. “What is all this stuff anyway? We haven’t had a case in weeks; we shouldn’t have any paperwork left to do.”

Scully sighs. “I don’t know, Mulder. It seems to be random files of old unrelated reports, articles, even some archeological surveys.. I guess Skinner must want us to review them for possible connections, but there’s no note or anything to give us a hint at what he wants us to focus on. It doesn’t make any sense. I'm going to have to call him.”

Mulder has opened the file nearest him and started skimming, flipping pages, slowly at first, then more rapidly as his interest grows.

“Scully, do you know what these are?” he says after he reaches the end of his sixth file.

“Obviously you think you do.”

“All these files seem to pertain, in one fashion or another, to the theory that extraterrestrials came to Earth in ancient times, and had a hand in influencing human development - civilization, religion, everything we are. That they may have even bred with early man, commingling our DNAs.”

Scully looks at him open-mouthed, as she puts together this theory with what she’s learned over the past two days. “Mulder, are you trying to say that these ancient astronauts came from the Twelve Colonies? That the Admiral and President’s theory about the thirteenth tribe is true?”

“Think about it, Scully. It would explain why our cultures are so similar, why we look the same, why we even speak the same language.”

She shakes her head quickly, not quite ready to fit those pieces together, when she’s only barely adjusted to the idea that Bill and Laura, and everyone else on Galactica aren’t actually deep undercover operatives trying to deceive them for some unknown purpose. “Okay, well even if that were true, why would Skinner leave us all these files now? He doesn’t know anything about Galactica or where we’ve been.”

“I don’t think it was Skinner at all, Scully. I think someone else knows about our visitors.”

Scully puts down the first file she has absently picked up.

“Someone else?” she asks, frowning. “Do you mean…?”

“...our chain-smoking friend of many secrets?” Mulder finishes for her. “Yes. He’s never far when something extraterrestrial is at hand, mark my words.” He quickly flips through a few more files and then looks up at Scully. “Most of these aren’t even from our X-files. I’ve never seen these before. In fact, I’ve never even seen this level of classification before.”

“Mulder…” Scully steps a little closer, picking up another file. It contains detailed drawings of various aircraft and her eyes are immediately drawn to one that resembles the Raptor they had flown in on, except the model looks a little different, perhaps older. “I don’t like this,” she says, closing the file. “I feel like we’re being set up for something.”

“Or being nudged in the right the direction?” Mulder suggests.

“But to what end?” Scully shakes her head. For all his brilliance, even after so many disappointments, she can’t help but think that sometimes Mulder can still be incredibly naive. “These kind of classified files didn’t just land on our desk because someone thought we might appreciate the extra intelligence.Whoever did this clearly wants something from us.”

She pauses to consider and then continues: “We may have been too careless, Mulder, thinking that just because our new...friends,” she hesitates a little on the word, “that just because they look like us, they won’t attract any attention, but clearly they have. Someone must have observed our landing.”

Mulder nods his head, gathering as many of the files as he can into his arms. “I think you’re right,” he says. “I had thought it unlikely that a foreign object entering our atmosphere at least three times, that we know of, would pass by without anyone but us noticing it.”

“So what are we going to do?”

Mulder nods his head to indicate the files still on the desk, his own arms already full. “For starters,” he says, as Scully starts picking up the remaining scraps, “we take some work home.”

***

“What exactly did he say?” Laura asks for the third time.

“I told you, he said I had come a long way to see the city, and that he wasn’t my enemy, and we should talk again sometime. That’s it,” Cottle says, exasperated. “Then he gave me that card,” he adds, pointing to the card which was now pinched between Laura’s thumb and forefinger as if it were something distasteful.

“That was it. Two sentences.” Laura sounds doubtful.

Cottle scrunches up his face, wishing he had a cigarette to help him remember. He mouths the words of the conversation to himself as best as he can remember. “And, he said travel broadens one’s horizons,” he adds triumphantly. “But that was just because I said something about Baltimore not being very far away.”

“The point is,” Bill interjects, “that you didn’t give anything away.”

“Nope.” On this point, Jack is certain. “Whatever he thinks he knows about me, he had in his head before he ever approached me. I played thoroughly dumb.”

“I think we should call Mr. Mulder and Dr. Scully,” Bill says. “Maybe they know who this guy is and whether he’s anything to worry about it.”

Laura hums in agreement. “Yes, I agree. Perhaps he’s just someone’s senile old uncle, but if he’s not, we may have a problem. If he somehow knows we’re not from this planet, it could be that he’s a Cylon agent. And if he knows about us, he could know about the fleet.”

“What about our Raptor?” Cottle asks. “If they know about us they must know how we got here. Eric can’t fend them off alone if they come for it.”

Laura shakes her head, feeling a growing sense of dread setting in. The thought that their only ticket back might be compromised is beyond unsettling. “This was a bad idea,” she sighs. “We should never have come.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Bill says sternly as he stands up and starts pacing the room. “We don’t know anything about this man.” He pauses and turns to Laura. “He might be, like you said, a senile old uncle, perhaps a neighbour of Dr. Scully’s, who saw us go in with her. Let’s call Dr. Scully and ask. There’s no use in working ourselves into a panic before we have properly assessed the situation.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Laura agrees, but even repeating the words doesn’t fill her with as much as confidence as she would like. She picks up the phone Mulder and Scully had left for them. “Now, how exactly do we use this thing?”

She has just retrieved her glasses from her pocket to get a better look when they all freeze at the unexpected and unmistakable sound of a key being pushed into the lock outside.

Bill has just enough time to move in front of Laura to shield her from any possible attack before the door opens and, to everyone’s relief, Mulder and Scully burst in, both carrying a large pile of folders.

Laura lets out the breath she had been holding as she sees Bill’s shoulders relax before he moves out of her way again.

“A change of plans,” Mulder quips as he closes the door behind him with his foot, oblivious to any alarm their sudden appearance had momentarily caused. “There’s been a development.”

Bill, Laura, and Cottle share a glance as they retake their seats. What are the odds their hosts’ development relates to their own? Pretty frakking good, Laura decides.

“Yes, well. We’ve had a development of our own,” she tells them. “Dr. Cottle made a new friend in your parking lot.”

Mulder drops the load of files on the coffee table, then looks back at Scully before turning to the doctor. “Fellow smoker?” he asks.

Cottle gives a quick nod. “Friend of yours?”

Mulder laughs humorlessly, straightening up as several files fall unnoticed to the carpet. “Not exactly. What did he say?”

Cottle explains the encounter with the strange cigarette smoking man for what seems like the hundredth time. “It was the damnedest thing - it was like he could appear out of thin air, then disappear the same way,” he tells the two agents.

“Yes, he does that,” Scully says dryly.

“So you _do_ know him,” Laura states. 

“Oh we know him,” Mulder agrees. “He’s…” He pauses, unsure of how to describe his longtime nemesis in just a few words to people who know nothing of Earth’s history with alien conspiracies. 

“He’s a high-level government operative tasked with hiding the truth of the existence of life on other planets from the American citizenry,” Scully interjects, taking over for her partner.

On the couch, Bill and Laura trade glances. “By which you mean us?” Bill asks, leaning forward on his knees.

“No,” Mulder says shortly. “At least not primarily, although these,” he indicates the files now spread over Scully’s coffee table and floor, “seem to indicate our government has more knowledge of your existence that I would previously have thought. But no, his and my interests normally converge in other areas.”

He seems about to continue, when Scully holds up her hand. “That’s a long story; maybe we should save it for another time, and deal with the problem at hand first?”

“I agree,” Laura adds. “And first and foremost, I have to ask - How well do you know this man? Is there any possibility he could be a Cylon?”

Mulder and Scully share a glance. Before Mulder can even start considering the possibility, Scully shakes her head resolutely.

“That man is many things, but a Cylon he is not,” she says, giving Mulder a pointed look. To her relief, Mulder does not disagree.

“Clearly there is much we don’t know,” he says, “and we should all take a closer look at these files in case they contain something useful, but I do not believe this man to be a Cylon.”

Laura considers their responses for a moment. How many Cylons have they encountered whom they had at first thought to be human? “Do you have any specific reason for that belief?” she asks. “In my experience, a mere hunch usually doesn’t work when it comes to trying to determine whether someone is a human or Cylon.”

Mulder and Scully again exchange looks. The truth is, they don’t even know the man’s name.

“I think the important thing here is to be wary of this man regardless of who or what he is,” Scully says at last. “We don’t know what his agenda is or what he wants from us, or you.”

“It’s clear he wants something, and he won’t be getting it from me,” Bill mutters as he leans down to pick one of the fallen files off the ground.

Laura watches as he opens the file but then turns back to Scully and Mulder: “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

Again, there is no simple answer to give.

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell,” Mulder replies after a short hesitation. “He could be dangerous, or he could be useful, depending on where our purposes meet. We assume it was he who left these files for us," he continues. "He doesn’t do anything out of the goodness of his heart, but clearly he wants us to know something.”

“Or he’s warning us,” Cottle mutters

The other four turn to stare at the doctor, who is turning an unlit cigarette around between his fingers.

“Pardon?” Scully asks.

“He’s letting you know he’s on to you,” Cottle explains. “He knows who we are and where we came from and if you don’t do whatever it is he wants, he’ll use that information.”

“Use it for what?” Mulder asks.

“Well, how the frak should I know?” The doctor stands and starts for the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” he adds, noticing the concerned looks he’s attracting. “I’ll throw my cigarette in his face and run if I have to.” 

“Before we do anything else,” Bill says, as the apartment door closes behind the doctor, “I need your assurances that our Raptor is safe. That ship is a Colonial asset, and well, we have precious few of those left.”

“It is of utmost importance that nothing happens to it,” Laura adds, and it’s clear to the room that, in this matter at least, the President and the Admiral are united.

“I wish I could give you that assurance, sir, ma’am, but until we figure out how your presence has come to be known, unfortunately I can’t say that your ship hasn’t been observed,” Mulder says.

“But,” Scully adds thoughtfully, “We may be able to provide some additional protection for it. I have an idea. Mulder, could I talk to you privately?” Without waiting for a response, she walks off in the direction of her bedroom. Mulder shrugs and follows.

The moment the two agents are behind a closed door, Laura turns to Bill. “This was a mistake, Bill. We have to go back. Immediately."


	14. Chapter 14

Laura can tell from the set of Bill’s jaw that he knows she’s right, but still isn’t ready admit it.

“We can’t act rashly now,” he says, clenching his teeth.

Sometimes, Laura wishes he could be less stubborn.

“Every minute we waste here we’re increasing our risk of never getting out, or worse, something happening to the fleet,” she tries to implore him. “We _have_ to leave, Bill.”

Bill remains quiet for a moment, then shakes his head.

“No,” he says then, in a tone that leaves little room for argument. “The best thing we can do right now is wait to hear Dr. Scully’s idea and learn more about this man and what he wants. If we run now, without knowing what we’re up against, we could end up in more trouble than we already are. Trust me, Laura,” he tells her. “If I have learned anything from over forty years in the military, it’s that those who lose their nerve and start running when they’re supposed to be hiding are the ones that get killed first.”

"But the fleet..." Laura starts.

"Is safer without us potentially leading someone to it," Bill cuts her off.

Laura's face falls and she collapses back against her seat. He's right. As much as she hates to admit it, he is exactly right. There are reasons Bill is in charge of the military and she is not, and she would do well to remember that in the future.

Verbalizing none of this to Bill, she simply shakes her head. "Gods. What are we going do?"

Bill reaches over and takes her hand, squeezing gently. "For now we're going to follow our hosts' suggestions. They know the lay of the land better than we do."

She squeezes back and inhales deeply, shoving her fears deep down inside where they can’t interfere with her judgement longer. She and Bill, they’ve been in tighter spots than this before and still managed to keep the fleet going. This time won’t be any different.

The bedroom door opens then and Mulder and Scully emerge. “Sorry about that,” Scully apologizes. “I wanted to run my thoughts by Mulder first before making a suggestion.”

Laura can see a lot of herself and Bill in these two, in the way they operate as a unit, seemingly having absolute trust in one another. It makes her even more inclined to put her faith in them.

“And I think it’s a good one,” Mulder says. “Or at least the best one in a sea of bad options.”

“But it will involve letting some more people in on your secret,” Scully continues. “Our friends, the ones who set up your new identities, they have access to a warehouse where we could hide the Raptor.”

“Can we trust these people?” Bill asks, immediately cautious.

Scully throws a glance in Mulder’s direction. “Yes, we can,” she says then. “They are...an interesting group of people and once they learn where you are from you might find their questions and enthusiasm a bit...overwhelming, perhaps even annoying, but they’re harmless. In the few years I have known them, they’ve never given me any cause to doubt their loyalty.”

“Beyond harmless, I would say they are very useful,” Mulder picks up. “They’re three extremely smart, if a little eccentric, individuals and they’ve always come through for me when I’ve needed them. I would trust them with my life and, in fact, I have.”

Laura nods her head in approval, trying not to think of Gaius Baltar when she hears the words ‘extremely smart’ and ‘eccentric’ in the same sentence. She quickly reminds herself that if these people have proven themselves to their hosts on numerous occasions over the years, there must be more substance to them than that blithering idiot of a man could ever claim for himself.

“In that case, I believe we must defer to your judgment,” Laura says after a pause, looking at Bill for confirmation. “We must welcome any allies we can trust.”

“I agree,” Bill joins in. “If you say we can trust these people, then that has to be good enough for us, but tell me…” he looks at Scully, “...how do you propose we move the Raptor from its current location to the warehouse without being detected? I’m afraid flying might be out of question now.”

“We think they can probably arrange to have it hoisted up onto flatbed truck and covered with large tarps,” Mulder explains.

Bill cringes thinking about what hoisting probably entails. If the Chief knew what they were about to do to the plane he had so carefully maintained over the last few years, he might cry.

His thoughts must show on his face, at least to Laura’s practiced eye, as she turns to him. “Is that acceptable to you, Admiral?”

The title is a subtle reminder of what is at stake, just as she intended it to be, no doubt. He straightens up in his seat. “The Raptor is designed to fly through a vacuum at faster than light speeds, then enter a planet’s atmosphere and all that entails. It can withstand a little jostling.”

“Great,” Mulder says. “Even with the tarps, I suggest we do this after nightfall. If we’re all agreed, I’ll go call the Gunmen and get everything set up.”

“The...Gunmen?” Laura asks, looking askance.

“The Lone Gunmen, it’s a...they’re a...well, never mind, you’ll see,” Scully say, giving up on an explanation halfway through.

Mulder goes back into Scully’s bedroom to make his phone call just as the door to the apartment opens again, readmitting Dr. Cottle, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothing. “Just me, all alone and nothing to report,” he says in response to the others’ questioning looks. “Did I miss anything?”

***

When they arrive, shortly after nightfall, to the same dead-end road where Mulder and Scully had parked their car before, everything around them looks exactly as they had left it, only darker.

“So far so good,” Mulder says, sounding optimistic as they all step out, but still looking around for any signs of unwanted company as they move forward.

Laura, following in his tracks, does the same.

“And these...Gunmen?” she asks, trying in vain to penetrate the darkness around them. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get out of here as soon as possible.”

“They should be here with the truck any minute now,” Scully replies from behind them both. She has stopped to take out a flashlight and is now pointing it towards the path leading to the landing spot.

“That’s barely a footpath,” Bill points out as his eyes follow the light, giving voice to what Scully has also observed. “How are we going to get the Raptor from there onto the road?”

“Maybe we should check first that the Raptor is still there,” Cottle harrumphs. Having paused to light a cigarette, he is the last to join them by the start of the path.

“I’ll go,” Bill says before anyone else can reply. “And if it’s there, I’ll fly it over the trees,” he adds, answering his own earlier question. “It’s a quick maneuver and I won’t need to fully fire up to do it. If anyone does notice, we’ll be gone before they can get here, with any luck.”

His last words are directed to Laura, who nods her head in silent acquiescence. The alternative, she knows, is that they might still be here at dawn, trying to move the Raptor through the copse of wood by land. She is not fond of either option.

“You’re not going alone,” Mulder says. “You could be walking into a trap.” For it’s entirely possible their adversaries, whoever they may be, have already located the Raptor. They could be camped out inside it, just waiting for its owners to return. Eric could be incapacitated or worse. “I’m going with you."

Scully wants to object, doesn’t want Mulder, or anyone, walking into a potential ambush, but she knows he’s right. And someone the Gunmen know has to wait here for them. It’s the right plan. “Be careful,” she sighs, unheard by anyone but Laura, as the two men are already on the wooded path. After a few minutes, even the sound of their footsteps has disappeared.

The two women share a sympathetic glance, then turn to watch the road for headlights.

***

“Are you armed?” Mulder asks as he trails Bill through the woods.

Bill just snorts at the ridiculous question. Of course he is. He's a soldier. “When we get to the clearing, I’ll approach first and call to Eric. We have protocol for these types of situations. If he’s under duress, I’ll know.”

That's just fine by Mulder, who would prefer not to be shot with an alien weapon by an overly-excited alien Marine. "You got it," he says.

When they reach the edge of the wood, Mulder stays by the treeline as agreed, while Bill continues forward with a steady gait, calling out for his marine once he is well into the clearing.

As he waits, Mulder tries to squint into the darkness, first towards the Raptor and then at any signs of unwanted company elsewhere, but even with his eyes now adjusted to the darkness, it’s hard to see much beyond his immediate surroundings.

A few more minutes pass, seemingly without incident, and then at last Mulder can see the Raptor lighting up in the middle of the clearing. Only a moment later he sees the marine, Eric, walk around the Raptor, take a few steps towards the wood and then motion with his hands for Mulder to join them.

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Everything okay here?” Mulder asks as soon as he’s close enough to the marine to be heard without shouting.

The man nods curtly. “It’s been a very quiet day, Sir,” he says. “Well...mostly,” he adds then with slight hesitation.

“Mostly?” They have reached the Raptor and Mulder can see the Admiral in the cockpit, making pre-flight checks.

“At one point I thought I heard cars on that road you came from,” the marine explains. “I didn’t go and look because I couldn’t leave the Raptor, but I heard them drive away soon after. I figured they were probably just lost. From what I understood, it’s a dead-end road, so somebody must have taken a wrong turn.”

“On the road?” Mulder asks, his stomach clenching in sudden fear. “You heard car _s_ on the road? More than one? How long ago?”

The young man looks taken aback by the sudden barrage of questions. “Not that long ago, sir. Just after nightfall, I guess. And yeah, now that I think about it, I definitely heard at least two cars. That’s kind of strange, isn’t it, that more than one person would have gotten lost up here at the same time?”

Mulder doesn’t hear another word after ‘two cars’. Immediately, he turns around and sprints back toward the road, where Scully, President Roslin and Dr. Cottle wait, blissfully unaware that they’re probably surrounded by armed men waiting for just the right moment to seize control of the alien technology. And now they’ve helpfully provided them with a pilot for it as well. _Damn it!_ As he runs, he pulls his gun from its holster.

Behind him he can hear Eric running too, quickly gaining ground as his military training commands him to react first and ask questions later. Several feet before the edge of the woods, Mulder slows to a stop, holding up his free hand to signal the marine to stop as well.

“Sir, what’s happening?” the younger man whispers urgently.

Mulder, gasping for breath, points to the edge of the woods. “Those cars you heard. They may have been delivering operatives who want to steal your ship. Your President and doctor, and my partner, are waiting over there. My instincts are telling me they may no longer be alone.”

At the news that his President may be in danger, Eric’s young, open face hardens into something significantly more intimidating. “What are your orders, sir?”

“Stay here and be quiet a minute while I have a look,” Mulder tells him. “Cover me. And be alert for any movement around us.”

Eric nods sharply, and draws his own weapon.

With that, Mulder creeps forward until he can see the road through the trees.

***

From his seat inside the cockpit, Bill notices with a sudden start, and then mounting horror, how Mulder unexpectedly breaks into a run, followed soon by Eric at great speed. Their direction is the same from which they had just arrived: the edge of the wood and, beyond that, the road where the others are waiting.

“Frak,” Bill mutters as he reaches for his side arm, quickly firing down the engines that he had  just begun to warm up for flight. He pauses briefly to listen for anything like gun blasts, his heart hammering fast at the thought of Laura on the other side of the small wood, possibly already in danger, but he can hear nothing but they dying hum of the Raptor and the sound of his own rushing blood in his ears.

Despite all his more primal instincts telling him to run after the others without delay, he forces himself to move through the Raptor slowly, making sure that it's still secure. He closes the cockpit door behind him and moves through to the back, flips on a light switch and then flips it off again when the space proves to be empty. Satisfied that the Raptor itself has not been compromised, he finally moves to the exit door and  takes a deep breath of the night air, trying to calm his thoughts. If something has happened to the others, the last thing he needs to do is rush into the same trap with them.

It is then that he becomes aware of the unmistakable whiff of cigarette smoke in the otherwise sweet air.

Bill tenses. “Jack? Is that you?”

He steps onto the wing and looks around, tightening his grip on his side arm.

“You won’t be needing that gun,” a silky voice speaks from the darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

Bill whips his head in the direction of the voice. He thinks he can see a dark figure just at the edge of his vision, where the faint light cast by the Raptor meets the impenetrable night.

“You,” he growls, certain that this is the same man Jack had met. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk, my friend,” the silky voice continues, stepping a little closer, enough for Bill to discern a man with graying hair, wearing a trench coat over what appears to be a suit. The man pauses to bring a cigarette to his lips.

“I wouldn’t come any closer with that thing,” Bill says tersely, eyeing the cigarette. “The fuel is highly flammable.” He pauses to take another look at the man and then narrows his eyes. “And I am not your ‘friend’,” he snarls, his fingers still on his side arm.

“Oh, I think that remains to be seen, Admiral Adama. I could be the best friend you ever had.”

Bill’s face must have betrayed his surprise, because the smoking man chuckles. It’s an unpleasant sound, high-pitched and grating. 

“Oh yes, Admiral, I know your name,” he continues. “I know more about you than you might think - you and your lovely companion. Laura, is it? Too bad about the cancer.” Casually, as if they’re discussing the weather, the man again lifts his cigarette to his lips.

Fury continues to build in Bill’s gut. How dare this stranger talk about Laura’s private medical information. How dare he even speak her name. His fingers twitch around the handle of his weapon. He hasn’t forgotten Mulder and Eric’s headlong run from the clearing. If this man has done anything to cause Laura harm, he won’t live long enough to regret it.

“What the frak do you want?” he growls.

That nauseating snicker again. “It’s not what I want, Admiral. It’s what I can offer you.” 

The man takes a final drag from his cigarette, then tosses it aside. He steps closer, stopping only when he’s directly in front of Bill, close enough that if Bill were to bend down, he could smack that smirk from his snivelling face. 

“A cure,” the man says. “I can offer you a cure.”

His words give Bill pause. Despite the loathing and deep mistrust he already feels towards this man, it’s a bait almost impossible not to take a bite of.

“A cure?” Bill repeats, momentarily thrown off guard. Then he forces himself to stamp down the feeling of hope that threatens to rise within him, unbidden, and immediately spits out in a more derisive tone: “A cure for what exactly?” 

The man smiles, perhaps sensing from Bill’s reaction that he has hit the right note.

“A cure for Laura’s cancer, of course,” he says, his voice dripping with honey. "A complete cure."

Bill bristles again at the familiar use of Laura’s name, and reminds himself that he is talking to a snake. “I don't need your dirty cures,” he replies curtly, ready to end the conversation that he should never have entered into in the first place. "She is already getting the treatment she needs."

“But is she?” the man stops him before he can hop off the wing. “Six months of treatment in a hospital?” He shakes his head. “Do you really think she will ever agree to it?”

Bill freezes. How does this man even know so much?

Seeing Bill’s hesitation, the smoking man continues: “With what I can offer, you could be off this planet before the week is over. Laura would be fully cured and we can all forget this meeting ever happened.”

Immediately, Bill is reminded of Laura's first bout with cancer and her sudden, miraculous cure via the half-Cylon child's blood. Is it possible this man somehow has access to that same rare substance? Suspicions that this man may himself be a Cylon once again loom large in his mind. After all, how else would he know so much about them?

"Who are you?" he demands. "What do you want? I doubt you're making this offer out of the goodness of your heart."

"Well, I would think the life of your lovely Laura would be worth something to you. Some small compensation for my trouble."

"Like what?" Bill snaps, out of what little patience he had for this man's game.

The ingratiating faux smile drops from his face and when he next speaks, all the obsequiousness is gone, as if it had never been there at all. "Like this ship," he states coldly. "You give me this ship and teach my men the science behind its operation, and I will save the woman's life."

***

Mulder peers through the trees and finds the two women standing at the side of the rutted old logging road, exactly where he left them just a short time ago. Their heads are together, talking quietly. A short distance away, the doctor smokes almost absentmindedly, staring off into the distance. Nothing appears amiss.

Feeling a sense of relief that's almost palpable, Mulder holsters his weapon and waves Eric over. "False alarm," he tells the younger man. "We better go back and tell the Admiral. He's probably shitting his pants after seeing us tear out of there."

As he speaks, headlights creep down the darkened road, followed shortly by a rumbling engine which signals the appearance of a large flatbed truck. 

At the sight of the new arrival, Eric immediately reaches for his weapon again, but Mulder lays a steadying hand on his arm, shaking his head.

“These are our guys,” he says, starting to walk towards the approaching truck, the Admiral momentarily forgotten.

As he steps into the beam of the headlights, the eyes of the rest of the group are immediately drawn to him.

“Mulder?” Scully exclaims, starting towards him. “What are you doing here?” She is followed very quickly by both Laura and doctor Cottle.

“Where’s the Admiral?” Laura asks immediately, looking around for any signs of others until she spots Eric a little distance away.

“He’s getting the Raptor ready, everything is fine,” Mulder assures her. “We just overreacted to something your marine had heard earlier.”

Even as he speaks, another thought suddenly crosses his mind and he grimaces at his own foolishness.

“What?” Laura asks, her concern growing as she sees Mulder’s expression. “What did Eric hear?”

“He said he’d heard some cars on this road earlier,” Mulder replies. “I immediately thought you might be in danger and we both ran here as quickly as we could. I didn’t think…”

“Bill,” Laura interrupts him urgently. “You left him by himself?”

Mulder nods, silently cursing his impulsive run.

“We’ll go back at once,” he says in a hurry, turning to Scully before he takes off. “You stay here and deal with the Gunmen.”

“I’m coming with you,” Laura declares emphatically, moving towards the woods. Eric quickly falls into step beside her.

“Ma’am, I don’t think…” Mulder begins.

“Why start now?” the President snaps, not slowing down. “You obviously weren’t thinking when you left Bill alone! What if he’s been captured?”

“I haven’t been captured. I’m fine, Laura,” a gravelly voice pronounces. Bill emerges then from beyond the tree line, the lights from the flatbed revealing him to be alone and seemingly unharmed.

Gasping, Laura rushes to him, stopping just short of embracing him, instead reaching wordlessly out to touch his arm. “Bill, what happened?” she asks after an emotion-filled pause. “Why didn’t you bring the Raptor?”

He pats her hand, then tucks it into the crook of his elbow, walking them both back to the others.

“I had a visitor,” he explains to the group. “A man with a serious tobacco addiction who knows far too much about us for comfort.”

Before he can say anything else, the doors to the flatbed open and the Lone Gunmen spill out onto the hard-beaten road. “Care to share what the hell this is all about, Mulder?” Frohike demands as he crosses the road. “I have better things to…” He trails off, noticing Scully standing off to the side, her arms crossed over her chest. “Correction, I have nothing more important in life to do than to aid the lovely Agent Scully. How may we be of service?”

Behind him, Langly and Byers are poking each other and conversing in hushed tones, having caught sight of “the Adamses” and “Dr. Cody”, and very quickly realizing there was more to their story than what Mulder and Scully had previously shared.

Once their whispering ceases, however, a general silence falls over the whole group. There is more than one question in the air that needs to be addressed and nobody appears quite certain who should go first. Finally, Bill leans to Laura and tells her under his breath that their conversation can wait a moment longer. Then he gives Mulder a nod, signaling him to take control of the situation.

Mulder nods and steps forward, indicating a hand towards the three men who are standing a little distance away, now silent but still occasionally nudging each other.

“Friends, may I present you the Lone Gunmen,” he says, and the three immediately come to attention. “Langly.” The man with long, blonde hair raises his hand. “Byers.” The bearded man gives a nod. “And Frohike,” Mulder finishes, his hand moving to point towards the shortest of the men, who immediately steps forward and turns to Laura, then gives a slight bow.

_“Enchanté,”_ Frohike says, pressing a hand to his chest.

Despite herself, Laura finds herself smiling at the odd man. “A pleasure, Mr. Frohike,” she says before turning to Bill with a wiggle of eyebrows.

Bill huffs but the corner of his mouth twitches as he returns her look.

“You must be....Mr. and Mrs. Adams,” Byers then speaks up from behind Frohike. He, too, has ventured a little closer.

Mulder, who had deferred the other introduction to let their guests choose for themselves how much they wish to share, also turns to Bill and Laura expectantly. He watches as a quick succession of looks passes between Bill, Laura and Cottle, until finally they seem to reach a silent consensus. Then it is Bill who takes it upon himself to step forward and perform the introductions.

“Yes," he says simply. "I understand we have you three to thank for those identities, and we have received them very gratefully. My real name is Bill Adama and these are my,” he hesitates a moment, “my friends Laura Roslin, Jack Cottle, and Eric Mardas. We are...not exactly from this neighbourhood.”

At first the three men just look at each other in confusion, but it only takes another moment for comprehension to dawn and their eyes to widen in amazement. 

Byers is first to speak. "Do you mean...?" He points slowly upward.

"Yes," Mulder answers, quickly taking over before all the questions start flying. They don't have time to do this now, here, out in the open. “And they need our help. I think our guests might be willing to answer some questions later...” He glances at Bill, still standing in the forefront, for confirmation, who nods. “But first we have to do something about their ship.”

“Ship!” Langly practically squeals, taking a step forward. Byers has to grab his arm and physically restrain him from rushing off into the woods.

“You _do_ still have the ship?” Laura asks Bill quietly. 

“Yes,” he says, and while there is no obvious hesitation in his answer, there’s something she finds troubling about his tone. “I’ll go get it now,” he adds, a bit louder so all can hear.

“I’m coming too,” Laura says. Whatever is wrong, whatever that man said to him, she wants to know, now.

“No!” Bill says hurriedly, then clarifies when Laura’s eyebrows fly upward. ”I mean, no thank you, Eric will come with me. No offense, Madam President, but he’s a bit better in a fight.” Without waiting for any further discussion, he jerks his head at Eric and heads back to the woods.

Laura huffs in frustration and walks over to where Scully is standing quietly, a bit off to the side from where Mulder is trying to calm the agitated Gunmen.

“That man said something to him,” she tells the other woman. “And it shook him, badly.”

“He has that effect on people,” Scully replies, her eyes darting to the Admiral’s retreating back.

Laura sighs. She, too, watches as Bill and Eric disappear into the darkness. “What is that man after?” she mutters, as much to herself as in a question to Scully. “What could he have said to Bill?”

They both remain silent for a moment, contemplating the possibilities.

“He must have threatened him in some way,” Scully says at last, stating the obvious possibility she is sure they both have already considered. “Or else he made him some kind of an offer that, if I know him at all, would be dubious in nature and yet tempting to accept. The man knows how to play to other people’s weaknesses.”

Scully almosts goes on to wonder out loud what the Admiral’s weakness might be, but then closes her mouth as she looks at Laura, realizing the obvious answer.

“Madam President…” she starts again, but Laura interrupts her with a wave of her hand.

“Please just call me Laura,” she says. “I’m not the President of anything here.”

Scully nods, understanding. “Laura,” she amends. “I can think of only two things that the man might be interested in: your Raptor or...your...bodies, for some kind of scientific experiment.”

Laura’s eyes widen in horror and Scully hastens to add: “I believe it to be the former, however, because your biology is so similar to ours that there cannot be much he could hope to gain by cutting you open, no genetic superiority to investigate and learn from.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Laura huffs sarcastically.

Scully mulls over the thought for a beat and then continues: “No, I do believe it’s the Raptor he wants and, if I'm not mistaken, he is somehow going to use you as a bargaining tool.”

“Me?” Laura questions, eyebrows rising. “What do you mean?”

Scully sighs and shoves her hands into her pockets. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, Laura, or if I’m assuming too much, but it’s pretty clear the Admiral cares very much for you.”

Laura opens her mouth, her first instinct, as always, to deny there is anything beyond the professional between herself and the Admiral, but then snaps it shut. It’s true, and denying it won’t solve the problem. Bill does indeed care very much for her and that is a weakness someone could try to exploit. Bill is one of the strongest men she knows, but he isn’t always rational when his loved ones are threatened. She’s seen it first hand with Kara and Lee.

“Yes,” she says simply. “He does.”

“And if the smoking man knows that,” Scully continues, holding up her hand when Laura is about to interrupt, “- and don’t ask me how he knows any of the things he does, because as incredible as it may seem, he has his ways - he wouldn’t hesitate to exploit that knowledge. If you were threatened in some way, could the Admiral be convinced to give up the Raptor?

Laura wants to deny it, wants to toss the idea out instantly and decisively, but she can’t. She’s not sure she understands _what_ Bill’s priorities are anymore. He sacrifices so much for the fleet, but then just yesterday he had been ready to toss them to the Cylon wolves for a chance at a cure for her illness. If that man has threatened her life in some credible fashion if Bill won’t give him the Raptor? Laura can’t be sure he won’t just top it up with fuel and hand over the keys.

“I should go after him,” Laura sighs, immediately fearing that the worst might already be happening.

Scully places a hand on her arm before she can take off. “Eric is with him,” she reminds Laura, trying to ease her mind. “Besides, we have the flatbed truck. They’ll want the Raptor somewhere more convenient and since we have the means to transport it, I’m sure they’ll only be happy to let us do all the work first. We have time to think this through.”

“And what if Bill has already agreed to fly it somewhere else where these people have another truck waiting?” Laura asks, exasperated. “Who’s going to stop him, hm? Not Eric, that’s for sure. Even if he was inclined to stop him, Bill could simply tell him to stand guard outside and then take off wherever he pleases.”

Scully pauses to consider the possibility and has to concede that Laura has a point.

“I’m coming with you then,” she says, knowing she won't be able to stop the older woman.

“If you wish,” Laura replies without turning back. She has already started towards the trees.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Donnelly Rhodes. Rest in Peace, Doc.

Scully has just enough time to catch up with Laura by the edge of the wood when a loud humming above their heads suddenly brings them both to a halt. When they look up, they see the Raptor floating gracefully over the treetops before dipping down and starting a slow descend towards the road.

The rapid-fire questions being thrown at Mulder by the Gunmen come to a sudden halt as all four men turn to watch as the Raptor hovers almost indecisively in mid-air for several seconds before turning and landing gracefully on the flatbed, perfectly aligned behind the cab.

After a few moments, the loud hum stops and the hatch opens, revealing first Eric, then Bill, who in turn walk out onto the wing, jump down to the truck bed, and then to the ground.

Mulder whistles lowly. “Hell of a landing,” he says to Bill, who accepts the compliment with a slight incline of his head.

“I’ve a had a few years’ practice.”

“It shows.” Mulder then turns to the Lone Gunmen. “You fellows brought tarps?”

Byers, the only one of the three who seems to have retained the ability to speak, tells him they’re in the truck and drags the others off to start hiding the Raptor from view.

“You too, if you please, Eric,” the Admiral adds. “Make sure they don’t touch anything important.”

“Yes, sir,” Eric replies, and if he holds any trepidation about being assaulted with questions by the three strangers, his military training hides it well.

When the other four are gone from hearing range, Bill turns back to Laura, Mulder, and Scully.

“Well?” Laura demands, her voice cracking on the word. “What did he say to you?”

“We have a decision to make,” Bill tells her, walking over and reaching for her hand.

“Perhaps we should go back to my place to talk this over,” Scully says before Laura can answer. “Mulder, maybe you should take Eric and go with the Gunmen to make sure they don’t get any stupid ideas, but the rest of us are probably not immediately needed anywhere.” She looks at Bill for confirmation.

“No, I don’t imagine they’ll do anything without me,” he replies, squeezing Laura’s hand. “At least for now.”

“Right,” Scully agrees. She doesn’t say that it’s probably best not to test the smoking man’s patience too long, but she is sure they will have at least another twenty-four hours to consider whatever it is he has offered before he comes back with a threat. “I’m sure both parties will be followed, but at least we should have some privacy within the walls of my apartment.”

“Considering how much these people seem to know, I wouldn’t count on it,” Laura mutters, but doesn’t really disagree with the plan. Whether the apartment is bugged or not, given the choice between standing here, on a dark road, or sitting down on Scully’s couch with a cup of fresh coffee, she would rather take the couch and coffee.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Scully sighs, making a mental note to check all the obvious places as soon as they get to her apartment and then have the Gunmen scour the place with their equipment later.

***

The car ride back to Scully’s apartment is silent and tense. In the front seat, Scully and Cottle exchange the occasional phrase too quietly for Laura to hear, while beside her Bill stares out the window, his face unreadable, even to her. She wants to reach out, to take his hand as he had hers back at the landing site, but it feels like too much, like perhaps the simple demonstration of support could be misconstrued as agreeing to one option or another before she truly understands what’s at stake.

Scully pulls around to the back of her building, eases into her parking spot, then kills the engine and extinguishes the headlights. When Laura looks up, she finds the other woman’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, backlit by the streetlamp in front of the car.

“Before we talk inside,” the agent explains, “I’m going to have a look around for listening devices. I don’t like how much intel our friend seems to have on you. Could just be a combination of the wrong person seeing your ship land, some old files, and some good guesswork, but I have a strange feeling his knowledge is more specific, more personal than that.”

“It is,” Bill says shortly. He then opens the car door and climbs out, leaving the others staring after him.

***

After they enter the apartment, Laura, Bill and Cottle silently stand to the side as Scully moves around the living room checking under end tables and along the hems of the draperies. After exhausting all the obvious places, she stands in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, glancing around. Where else could it be? If there is a bug, it has to be here, in this room. It’s the only place they’ve spoken at any length, except possibly...

Back by the door, Laura’s eyes suddenly widen, and she waves frantically to get Scully’s attention, then gestures behind her to the coffee table.

Scully looks in the direction she’s pointing and suddenly it seems obvious - the stack of files that had mysteriously appeared in Mulder’s office, the same ones they had so obligingly brought home with them. She rolls her eyes, then waves the others over to sit down. They each grab a stack of papers and begin paging through them.

A couple of minutes pass as they rush through the files for the first time, and then a few more as they comb through them more thoroughly, certain they must have missed something in their hurry, but at last they have to admit that there’s no device hidden among the papers either. Letting go of the last file of the stack, Scully sighs in frustration and looks up to find Bill and Laura looking back at her equally perplexed.

“Nothing,” Laura mouths, shaking her head.

Scully nods, venturing to raise her voice: “Whatever his source is, I don’t think he has managed to infiltrate the apartment.” She takes one more look around the room in case there could be something she has missed, but there’s nothing she hasn’t already checked. “I’m not sure if that’s much of a consolation, though,” she adds sympathetically.

At least if they had found a bug, they could have done something about it.

“It’s not ideal,” Bill admits, letting his experienced eye scan through the room as well before turning back to Scully, “but we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got. If we don’t know his source, we’re just as well off talking here as anywhere else.”

“He has a point,” Laura agrees. “And we found nothing, so there’s a good chance that we’re at least safer here than somewhere else.”

“I agree,” Scully replies. She hesitates a moment and then continues: “And speaking of...would you like me to leave before you start?”

“Well…” Bill starts, looking a little uncertain. He turns to Laura who nods almost imperceptibly. “Yes, perhaps it’s best if we talk about this amongst ourselves first,” he concedes. “But before you go, Dr. Scully, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”

Scully, who had already been ready to take off, pauses. “Please do, if there’s any insight I can offer.”

Bill takes a deep breath. His eyes dart briefly to Laura again before they return to Scully. “Your cancer,” he says then without preamble. “You said you had cancer of the brain. How was it cured?”

Scully blinks at the seeming non-sequitur, then, all at once grasping the implication of what Bill is asking her, stares at him open-mouthed. Her hand rises automatically to rub the back of her neck.

Surprised and bewildered, Laura looks from one of them to the other.

At last, Scully clears her throat and speaks. “My cancer was cured when a computer chip was surgically inserted under my skin. I went into remission almost immediately.”

“And where did you get that computer chip?” Bill asks gently, already knowing the answer.

Scully forces her hand down to her side, then gives him the answer he’s waiting for. “From him. Mulder got it from the smoking man.”

***

Scully leaves a short time later, telling them she’s going to pick up Mulder from the Lone Gunmen’s warehouse and will be gone long enough for them to talk through their options privately.

The doctor accompanies her out of the apartment, craving a cigarette, but thinking for the first time in years he should probably quit. The once-comforting habit seems suddenly distasteful.

When at last they’re alone, Laura turns to Bill, having long since figured out where all this was going. “Out with it,” she says wearily. “What does he want in order to cure me?”

Bill waits a beat and then comes out with it, plain and simple: “The Raptor. They want our Raptor.”

Having expected something of the kind, Laura immediately starts shaking her head. “No. Look at me Bill,” she demands. “ _No_ ,” she reiterates when he reluctantly meets her gaze. “We can’t give him the Raptor.”

“It’s an old model,” Bill replies, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for battle. “Unusable in conflict or any other military mission. It wouldn’t be much of a price to pay for…” He pauses and swallows the rest of the sentence.

“...for my life?” Laura finishes for him, her voice losing its edge. She takes a deep breath, buying herself a little more time to prepare her counter argument. “Bill…” she starts at last. “We’re short of supplies as it is. That Raptor may seem disposable to you right now, but one day we might really need it.”

“If there ever comes a day when our survival depends on that old thing, we’re already doomed,” Bill replies gloomily.

“Even if that were the case, what makes you think we can count on that man to deliver his end of the deal, hm?” Laura asks, growing exasperated. “Everything I’ve heard of him so far is not exactly painting me a picture of man I would take at his word.”

“I wouldn’t trust him even as far as I can throw him,” Bill replies, his face twisting into a grimace at a mere thought of the slithering man, “But he needs me to show how the Raptor works, so it would be in his best interests not to piss me off.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Laura retorts dryly. “He seems like just the kind of megalomaniac who would assume he could figure it all out on his own.” Not unlike the one who cured her cancer the last time, she does not add.

Bill shrugs. “It probably doesn’t matter. You heard Dr. Scully. The cure works quickly. We won’t let them near the Raptor until after it’s administered and we have confirmation you’re all clear.”

Laura has her doubts about whether that condition would be agreed to. What would there be to stop them from flying off in the Raptor right after she undergoes the procedure? Bill’s stubborn sense of right and wrong, that’s what, but somehow she doesn’t think simple integrity would occur to a shady character such as the one they’re dealing with. But that’s not even her main worry.

“Bill,” she says gently, reaching out and touching his arm. “Do you really think it’s wise for me to implant a computer chip in my body? A _computer chip_. Think about that for a moment. Think about where that might lead.”

Bill stands and her arm falls away. He walks over to the window and pushes the drapes aside, looking out over the parking lot. “You’re worried the Cylons could tap into the chip.”

“Of course I am! Why aren’t you? Bill, there are too many coincidences here. Some shadowy part of the government of this world was already aware of our existence long before we arrived. There’s evidence our people have been here before; remnants of our culture are tied up within theirs. And now they have computer chips that cure cancer the same way Cylon blood does?” She shakes her head. “There’s something at play here we don’t understand.”

Bill lets the curtain drop and turns back to her, his face grim. “I know that. And that’s what makes it all the more important that we get the frak off this planet and back to Galactica as soon as possible. Do you really think this man and his organization, whoever and whatever they are, would settle for one antique Raptor if they knew how many other ships are nearby?"

Laura feels a chill travel down her spine at the mere thought and it silences her for a moment. No matter how she looks at their situation, she can only see bad options - some even worse than others.

“Whatever we do, we have to protect the fleet, Bill,” she says at last.

“Of course,” Bill agrees, but there’s just enough hesitation in his voice to give Laura some concern over his priorities. For what feels like a millionth time, she finds herself wishing they had never come, but it’s a thought she doesn’t want to waste any time on. They _are_ here now and wishing it differently isn’t going to help. Like so many times before, they will simply have to find a workaround.

“What if we negotiate?” Bill’s voice suddenly breaks the silence, interrupting Laura’s thoughts.

Laura frowns, not quite sure what he has in mind.

“Negotiate?”

“You...me...him,” Bill says slowly, the thought clearly still forming in his head. “So far these meetings have been very one-sided, catching us off guard, and that’s no way to come to a mutually satisfying result. The fact is, we have something _they_ want, and they have something _we_ want.” He pauses and raises his hand when Laura opens her mouth to speak. “He won’t know that we’re going to hitch a ride off this planet as soon as you’re cured. He’ll think we’re stuck here. Of course, we’ll need resources to start a new life.”

Laura is beginning to understand. If they ask for money to help them start a new life, they can convert that currency into supplies needed for the fleet.

“We should show him we mean business,” Bill continues, “because if I know his type at all, that's usually the best way to deal with that sort. If he believes us weak or scared, he will use that to his own advantage. Let's show him that we're not.”

Laura stands and walks across the room to join Bill in front of the window. What he says makes sense. So far they’ve been nothing but reactive; they need to be proactive, to steal back some measure of control from this man and his shadowy cohort. But at the same time, what Bill is suggesting is not without risks. The other side hold far more cards than they do, and has far less to lose.

She inhales deeply, then releases it. It seems the best of all worlds - get out of here and back to the fleet, with some much needed supplies. Seeds, she thinks, and medicines. And perhaps even some small things to make life more pleasant.

And, of course, if this mysterious cure works...well, she would actually like to live.

“Okay,” she says to Bill. “Okay. How are we to contact him?”

Bill looks at her, then turns to pull back the curtain again so she can look outside. Far below, the orange ember of a cigarette glows. “I don’t think we’ll have to,” he says darkly.


	17. Chapter 17

The warehouse owned by the Lone Gunmen is at the end of a dead end street in one of the more decrepit parts of the city. Even the criminal element tends to avoid the place, not out of any sense of fear, but simply because it has long since been relieved of anything of value. Or so it would seem.

The building Scully approaches looks like any of the neighbouring buildings, that is, like a stiff wind would send the walls tumbling to the street. It's a careful constructed illusion. Pushing aside a few tall weeds, she taps a code into the hidden pad by the door. A small green light flashes and the door swings open, revealing solid steel behind the battered wooden facade.

Inside is a large, empty room with smooth metal walls and dim lights set deep in the high ceiling. Her shoes echo as she walks over the polished floor toward the open doorway set in the far wall. Brighter light spreads across the floor in front of it and excited male voices reverberate from beyond. 

“What’s it like in space?” Scully hears a voice - Frohike, she thinks - ask with enthusiasm.

“Have you met any aliens?” Langly’s voice joins in before anyone can reply. “I mean...other aliens?” he adds after a short pause. Clearly, even the Gunmen have trouble wrapping their heads around the fact that these startlingly human-like people are apparently aliens.

Feeling sorry for Eric, who must be receiving the brunt of all the questions, Scully continues walking until she’s close enough to make her presence known.

“Gentlemen,” she says as she approaches, finding the Gunmen, Eric, and Mulder all gathered around the Raptor. The men all turn to her as she walks straight over to Mulder, telling him she left their guests in her apartment to talk things over. “We looked for a bug,” she adds, lowering her voice enough that only Mulder can hear the last part. “Didn’t find a thing.”

Mulder frowns. On one hand, it’s good news, but on the other hand...“We still don’t know his source, then, do we?” He takes hold of her elbow and pulls her over to a corner of the room where they can talk more freely.

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “I think you should have your car and the office checked over. I checked my car before I got here and found nothing.”

He nods. “First thing tomorrow. What did he say to the Admiral?”

Scully grimaces. “I don’t know for sure. They wanted to discuss it privately. But…”

“But what? Out with it, Scully.”

She sighs. “But before I left, the Admiral asked about my cancer. Specifically, about how I was cured.”

Mulder isn’t long in fitting together the same pieces she had. “You think he’s offering the President the same cure he gave you. Probably in exchange for the Raptor.”

“Yes. But Mulder, how is that even possible? We’ve always assumed the only reason he could cure me was because he was involved in the experimentation that caused my tumour in the first place. Does this mean he actually possesses the knowledge to cure naturally-occurring cancer?”

Mulder’s expression darkens. “Or does it mean that your cancer was somehow related to the Twelve Colonies? Or, more likely, to the enemies of the Twelve Colonies. You were cured with a computer chip after all.”

Scully’s hand automatically goes to her neck as an unpleasant feeling settles in her stomach. The idea seems far fetched, but so does the fact that she is currently standing in a large warehouse next to an alien spacecraft. Two days before, she would simply have rolled her eyes at Mulder. Now she’s not sure what to think.

“But...how?” she asks, shaking her head. “How would he have access to either such cancer or such cure?”

“I don’t know,” Mulder admits. “But don’t you think this all a bit too convenient to be a simple coincidence?”

Scully considers his words for a moment.

“Convenient, perhaps,” she starts. “But if he has this Cylon technology, which apparently is superior to anything man-made, what would he want with a Raptor? Don’t these Cylons have ships too?”

Before Mulder can answer, Scully continues: “And how would he get any technology from them anyway? I was under the impression they wanted all of humanity dead, unless our guests have exaggerated, which I suppose we must allow as a possibility.”

Mulder throws his hands up in the air. "Who can say? Who knows what kind of motives these...people, for lack of a better word...might have, or with whom they might choose to align, temporarily or otherwise, if they thought it could advance their cause. And another thing, Scully - Don't you find it odd that Admiral Adama, a man with decades of experience in faster-than-light space travel, has never encountered another alien race?"

Scully doesn't think that's odd in the least, given that she's barely come to terms with the fact that the Admiral himself exists. But she knows where Mulder is going with this. "You think that the alien race of your theories and these Cylons could be one and the same."

Mulders nods in the affirmative. "Or at least that they, and hell, let's throw in the Colonials as well, because I'm sure they weren't all as honorable as the ones we've met, are all historically, if not contemporarily, connected in some way that remains unclear. And somehow the Syndicate is involved as well. Damn it, Scully, I feel like the more I learn, the more ignorant I become."

She knows the feeling. "So what do we do?"

"What can we do? The last thing I want is for Cancerman to get his hands on that technology, but you’ve seen the way the Admiral looks at the President. There is no way he's going to let her die if there's anything he can do to save her."

"But her prognosis is good,” Scully protests, “even without any...experimental treatments." But even as she says the words, she knows an 80% survival rate over time isn't nearly the same thing as a guaranteed, virtually instantaneous, cure. "They're going to go through with it aren't they."

"I don't see how we can stop them."

Scully sighs. She knows they can't and, considering the chip buried in her own neck, they wouldn’t even have a moral high ground to stand on if they tried.

“What are we going to do?” she asks, resignation evident in her voice. Her eyes travel to the Gunmen, so enraptured by the Raptor before them that they have no attention for anything else, and then Eric, so busy trying to keep the three from touching the spacecraft that he, too, is barely registering Mulder and Scully’s presence in the distance anymore.

“What can we do?” Mulder replies again with a shrug, his eyes following hers as he exhales. “Help our friends in need and bury this one deep in the files? Live to fight another day.”

“Just like that?” Scully asks. She knows better than anyone how hard it must be for her partner, to come so close to something that would change everyone’s perception of the world forever, only to have to let it go once more with nothing gained but an increased risk of something Scully barely knows how to define. 

“It’s not all been for nothing, though,” Mulder counters, as if guessing her thoughts. He sounds more upbeat than Scully could have expected. “We already know so much more than we did coming into this, and who knows, perhaps there’s still something more we can learn for our future benefit.” He pauses, looks at his watch, and then at Scully. “How long did it take you to drive here?”

Scully, too, looks at her watch. “Some thirty minutes, I think.”

Mulder nods. “I think we should go back and have a word with our friends,” he says. “Eric has a handle on things here and I think our guests will have had enough time to talk by the time we get to your apartment. Who knows, maybe they’ll have some questions for us, too.”

***

“Frak,” Laura hisses. “Does the man have nothing better to do than lurk and smoke?”

“Well sometimes I do some doctoring, thank you very much,” Dr. Cottle says from behind them.

Laura and Bill jump in unison, then turn to see their friend closing the apartment door.

“Jack, gods, I forgot all about you,” Laura says, hand to her chest as she waits for her heartbeat to return to its normal rhythm.

The doctor snorts, well accustomed to being forgotten when Bill and Laura are in a room together. “So what’s the plan,” he asks instead, taking a seat in the armchair. “We coming or going?”

Bill and Laura fill him in on Bill’s conversation with the smoking man, what Agent Scully told them about her cure, and their plan to acquire currency to purchase supplies.

Jack shakes his head. “This place is insane. Are we sure they aren’t all Cylons?” He’s joking, mostly, but with computer chips that cure cancer, one can never be too sure.

Laura ignores the question. “Can you put together a list of medicine we can ask Dr. Scully to procure? 

The doctor nods. His supplies are dangerously low, and anything they can scrounge from these people will be a help.

“Should we call Dr. Scully and tell her it’s okay to come back?” Bill asks as Cottle settles down to work on his list. “This is her home after all, and we’re keeping her out of it in the middle of the night.”

“That’s true,” Laura agrees, feeling a twinge of guilt for taking advantage of their host in such a way. She takes out the phone they have been given and frowns at it. “Did we figure out how to work this thing yet?”

“Not sure we’ll need to,” Bill replies. He is looking out of the window again and, when Laura joins him, points at a familiar-looking car pulling up the street.

They watch as it comes to a halt by the sidewalk and then, a moment later, their hosts step out and walk into the building.

“Can you see the smoking man?” Laura says once the two are out of sight.

Bill looks for a moment and then shakes his head. “Not right now, but I doubt he’s gone far.”

“No, probably not,” Laura sighs, turning away from the window.

“Not much we can do about it,” Bill shrugs, turning from the window too, ready to meet their hosts.


	18. Chapter 18

Feeling more than a little awkward, Scully knocks twice on her own apartment door, then fits the key in the lock and grants herself and Mulder entry. "I hope we aren't interrupting anything," she says, finding her three guests sitting around the coffee table. 

"Not at all," Laura says, stifling a yawn. "We were actually just thinking about attempting to call you and tell you it was safe to return."

The older woman looks exhausted, Scully thinks, and as well she should. It's been a horribly long day for all of them, but especially for someone in her condition. Her eyes briefly meet Dr. Cottle's and when he nods grimly she knows he's thinking the same thing. No matter what plans have been made while Mulder and Scully were absent, the President's need for rest has to be paramount

"Good. I admit I'm curious as to what went on between you and our mutual friend, Admiral, but I'm afraid I'm too exhausted to process much more tonight. I think if it's all the same to all of you, I'll make up the guest room and then call it a night." As she finishes her sentence, she discreetly kicks the back of Mulder's foot, whose attention has wandered to the files still strewn about the living room.

He shoots her a startled look, then seems to remember his line. "Oh, right. Dr. Cottle, I've got a bed at my place you can have if you think it might be a bit crowded in these here parts."

Cottle looks from Mulder and Scully back to Laura. "Do you think you'll be all right here, young lady?" he asks.

"I think Dr. Scully is quite capable," she assures him with a tired smile

The doctor nods, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Very well then,” he replies. “I’ll have that list ready by tomorrow,” he adds after a short pause, picking up the piece of paper he has already started scribbling on.

“Thank you,” Laura says, squeezing Cottle’s arm. "We'll talk more in the morning."

Soon after, they all bid each other goodnight and Mulder and Cottle depart while Scully slips into the guest bedroom to prepare it for the night, leaving Bill and Laura alone.

“I...suppose I should go after her,” Bill says a little awkwardly after a short silence, nodding towards the guest room door. “Ask if she has a spare pillow and a blanket for the couch.”

Laura raises her eyebrow. “Does the couch need a spare pillow and a blanket?”

“Funny,” Bill retorts dryly. Then he grows serious again, looking earnestly at Laura. “I just thought with Dr. Scully having her room and you having the guest bedroom, I should probably take the couch. It looks comfortable enough.”

They’re both silent for a moment as Laura’s eyes travel to the couch. It does look fairly comfortable for a short nap, but hardly fit for a night’s sleep. Besides…

“The guest room has a double bed,” she points out helpfully. “And don’t forget that we  _ are _ married on this planet...Mr. Adams,” she adds with a wry smile.

Bill blinks, his mouth opening slightly as he stares at her as though she's suddenly sprouted a second head. "Laura. You aren't thinking clearly. Now is not the time for..."

She laughs, interrupting his ever-so serious speech. "Oh for the gods' sake, Bill, not everything has to have some larger meaning. I just think you'd be more comfortable, and...well...I think under the circumstances, I would sleep better with you there, that's all."

She glances behind him, making sure Scully is still out of sight, then adds, more quietly, "And trust me, Admiral, if I ever do decide to make a move in that direction, it had better be much further out of anyone else's hearing range."

Bill's jaw fully drops, just as Scully returns to the living room.

"I'm sorry," she says, her feigned fatigue having turned into the real thing as soon as she saw her bedroom, "but I'm too tired to think of a less awkward way to ask this: Do you need the couch made up as well or is one bed enough?"

Laura stares at Bill for a moment longer, then, when he doesn't raise any objections, turns back to their host. "One bed will be fine, thank you Dr. Scully."

Scully nods, relieved to have that particular conversation over and done with so quickly. “In that case,” she says, not quite meeting either of her guests’ eyes, “I think I’ll bid you both goodnight. Your room is ready.”

“Good night, Dr. Scully,” Laura replies as Bill, too, murmurs his goodnight. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us.”

“You’re welcome,” Scully replies, extending them both a brief smile before turning to go. At the door of her bedroom she quips a quick “Good night,” and then closes the door behind her, leaving Bill and Laura once again on their own.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I'm going to bed,” Laura yawns after a beat, the tiredness finally hitting her in full force. “You coming?” There's not enough left in her to even attempt a teasing tone.

“I’ll be a minute,” Bill replies, watching as Laura starts trudging towards the bedroom, already unbuttoning her shirt as she goes.

Once she's out of sight, he returns to the window and again pushes the curtain aside. Far below in the shadows of the parking lot, the orange ember of a cigarette bobs up and down.

He lets the curtain fall back into place, but doesn’t immediately move. He's out of his depth here in this strange society. At first glance, the people seem so similar to his own, but now it all feels like a façade. There are things going on here beneath the surface that he doesn’t understand. What if by giving the mysterious smoking man access to his knowledge, he somehow tips the scales in favour of the wrong side in some unknowable conflict? But then again, if his military training has taught him anything, it’s to not assume he knows which side is wrong and which is right.

In any case, it’s not up to him to choose sides. It can’t be. He has his own people to worry about, and whatever the fallout for the citizens of Earth, the fleet must take priority. The fleet, and the woman who is currently waiting for him to join her in the bedroom. So what the frak is he waiting for?

When he enters the guest room, he finds Laura safely ensconced in bed, dressed in the white cotton nightgown she brought with her. Her glasses are perched on the end of her nose, and she has a book from Dr. Scully’s bookshelf open in her hands. The light from the bedside lamp glints off the red in her hair.

She lowers the book to her lap when she notices his presence. “No matter how tired I am, I can’t sleep without reading for a bit. Silly, I know.” She looks mildly disconcerted and he knows the feeling. The casual intimacy of the situation is unnerving.

“Not at all,” he tries to reassure her. “Books quiet the mind. I’m the same way.” He crosses the room to the chair where Dr. Scully has placed his bag, deciding to change in the head.

By the time Bill returns, he finds Laura already nodding off with the book still in her hands. He smiles at the sight as he crosses the room, but when he tries to climb into the bed without disturbing her, the mattress dips and her head immediately shoots up.

"I wasn't sleeping," Laura gasps, looking momentarily panicked as if she had been caught napping during a particularly tiresome Quorum meeting.

“Just me,” Bill whispers gently, taking the book from Laura’s hand and reaching over her body to place the volume on her nightstand. If he lingers a moment longer to flick off the lamp as well, he hears no complaints from Laura, who has relaxed back against her pillows and only murmurs her thanks softly as he starts to move away.

Shifting back to his own side of the bed, Bill too tries to let his body relax, doing his best to ignore the thought that if he shifted but a little, his side would be pressed against Laura, or if he turned just so, lifted his arm, and lowered it over her midsection, he could envelop her in his embrace until they both fell asleep.

“It’s okay, Bill,” he hears Laura’s drowsy voice, already somewhere between sleep and awake. “I can  _ hear _ you thinking,” she hums, shifting a little. “Stop it and get comfortable.”

Bill harrumphs at her words but, after another moment of hesitation, finally does as he is told, shifting to his side and wrapping his arm around Laura because it’s the most natural thing he can think of doing.

For a while he listens to Laura’s breathing as it slows down to a steady rhythm, her soft snores soon telling him she has fallen into a peaceful slumber.

“Good night, Mrs. Adams,” he whispers into the darkness, his words barely audible even to himself. He knows that for him, sleep isn’t likely to come as quickly, but for the moment he is perfectly satisfied to simply lie there awake, breathing in everything that is Laura.


	19. Chapter 19

For the first time in a very long time, Laura sleeps  _ well _ , straight through the night, and without waking up with more aches and pains than she had when she lay down. And even more blissful is the fact that she’s  _ warm _ . Sleeping with Bill is like sleeping next to a furnace, a cuddly, nice-smelling furnace. She adjusts her feet, the one part of her that isn’t toasty warm, so they’re lodged under his calves.  _ Ah yes, that’s even better. _

“Brr,” he growls in her ear, the arm slung over her waist tightening as he shivers for effect. “What is wrong with your feet, Madam President?”

“Nothing that a few minutes under your legs won’t cure.” She wiggles her toes against him.

“The things I do for the good of the fleet,” he mumbles into her hair.

She smiles, closing her eyes again. They have a trying day ahead of them, but she’s going to enjoy these few moments of peace before it begins. She thinks she could quite easily get used to this.

And maybe, if the cure being dangled before them works, she  _ will _ .

The next time she opens her eyes - for she must have dozed off - it’s to the realisation that Bill’s warmth is missing and his side of the bed empty.

Before she can even sit up to wonder, however, the door cracks open and Bill re-emerges, carrying a tray that seems to contain breakfast and a steaming pot of fresh…

“Mmm, coffee,” Laura hums, breathing in the incomparable aroma of genuine, freshly brewed coffee. It had tasted luxurious enough the day before, but it's still another thing to be treated to a fresh cup first thing in the morning, after a good night’s sleep.

“And bacon and eggs and toast, with a side of fruit,” Bill replies, placing the tray on his side of the bed and then sitting down next to it.

“You spoil me, Admiral,” Laura beams at him, sitting up to survey the meal.

“Doctor’s orders,” he replies modestly. “Dr. Scully said you should have a hearty meal to restore some strength. There are pancakes, too, but I couldn’t fit them all on one tray.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit it all  _ in _ me,” Laura chuckles, then turns pensive as she reaches for a piece of toast and starts applying butter to it. It’s a strange feeling, when she allows herself to think about it, how everything feels so right and yet so far removed from their actual reality. It’s almost as if they’ve been allowed a glimpse at what their life might have been in some other reality where Cylons didn’t exist.

And yet, if Cylons didn't exist, would they ever even have come to know each other?

“Everything okay?” Bill asks, noticing the shift in Laura’s expression.

She pushes the thought aside and smiles. “Perfect,” she replies, taking a bite of her toast and savouring the taste. “Is Dr. Scully in the living room?”

Bill shakes his head. “She went out. I believe her boss wanted to see her. A Mr. Skinner or something to that effect. Mr. Mulder is supposed to be dropping off Jack momentarily, so we can come up with a game plan for today,” he continues, “but I expect he’ll want to help himself to breakfast first, so don’t rush.”

Laura shrugs as she swallows the bite of toast. “He’s seen me in my nightgown before,” she says, unconcerned. “Are you going to eat?”

“Yes, I thought I would leave you in peace, and have something in the kitchen,” he says, rising as if to go do so.

“Bill, don’t be silly. Go get a plate and join me.”  She’s feeling rather fond of her pseudo-husband this morning. She knows this situation has been difficult for him. He’s long since given up any effort to hide how he feels about her, while at the same time stubbornly refusing to put aside protocol in order to make what they can of the life they’ve been given. Her illness has made that stance ever more untenable, for both of them, but now it feels as if maybe they’ve turned a corner. She looks up and intentionally catches his eye before smiling warmly.

Bill looks startled for an instant, then visibly relaxes and returns her smile, his craggy face transforming into to something almost beautiful. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” He turns and leaves the room.

“Bring more coffee,” she calls after him.

***

  “Good morning, Special Agent,” Mulder greets Scully as he steps into their basement office where his partner is already waiting. She returns his greeting with a smile and a nod.

“How was the night at Casa Scully?”

Scully shrugs. “Uneventful, as far as I can tell,” she replies. “We were watched, but not approached, and I believe both our guests slept well. I left them to enjoy breakfast in peace.”

Mulder nods. “I dropped Dr. Cottle there on my way. Great fellow, that doctor. Lots of stories.” He pauses, wiggling his eyebrows at Scully. “So, did the President and the Admiral…?”

“I believe I already told you they seemed to sleep well,” Scully replies, choosing to play dumb.

“In the guest bedroom?” Mulder prods.

Scully sighs, giving him a stern look. “Is that really any of our business? But if you must know, yes, they shared the guest bedroom.”

Mulder looks satisfied, flopping down into a chair and rolling it over to where Scully is typing something on the computer.

“So, where are we at?” he asks, squinting at the screen.

“I’m typing a report for Skinner to explain where we’ve been,” Scully replies. “Just some usual jargon about how we thought we found something but turns out we didn’t.” She shrugs. “Nothing he hasn’t read from us before. I’ve tried to make it as long-winded as possible so he probably won’t even finish reading it.”

Mulder laughs. “He knows it’s for his own good.” He picks up a mug from the corner of the desk takes a drink and sets it back down. “Oh, I had the place swept for bugs this morning as soon as I got in. Nada.”

Scully glances over at him, then back to her screen, head shaking. “I still don’t understand how that man can know so much about our guests without any apparent source.”

Mulder shrugs, then, eyebrows raised, suddenly wheels over to the file cabinet. He removes a large manila envelope, then glides back over next to Scully and opens the envelope on the desk.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“Meteorological reports from the past week. Copies get delivered from National Weather Service every Friday. I don’t usually pay much attention to them, but...” His voice trails off as he pulls out what appear to be satellite images, sets them on the desk, and then retrieves a large magnifying glass from the desk drawer. 

Scully shrugs and goes back to typing up her report. The next twenty minutes pass in relative silence, the only sounds in the office being the clatter of her keyboard and the rustle when Mulder flips over a page.

“There!” he exclaims suddenly, making her jump. “Scully, look at that!” He slides the photograph and magnifying glass across the desk to her. 

“Okay. What am I looking for?” she asks, pulling the image towards her and examining it through the magnifying glass.

“I don’t want to influence you. Let me know if you see it independently.”

She glances up at him, finding him watching her with a curious mixture of triumph and anxiety. She moves the page so it’s better lit and starts looking. 

It takes her ten minutes of careful examination before she sees it. “Mulder, is that…?”

“Galactica. Yes.”

Scully looks at him in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“What else could it be? Unless you are suggesting that some other huge alien ship has recently visited us.” Mulder winks.

“Could be just a shadow,” Scully points out, ignoring his remark. “But I’ll give you it  _ could _ be Galactica,” she admits after a beat, passing the photograph back to Mulder. “Do you think…?”

“That someone else might have noticed it, too?” Mulder finishes for her. “I do. Think about it, Scully. They’ve been a step ahead of us this whole time. They didn’t just see the Raptor land. They’ve been researching this and probably watching us ever since they saw that speck on...whatever imaging systems they use. I’ll wager you they probably have more to go on than these dusty meteorological reports that get filtered down to us.”

Scully can’t deny that he has a point. It seems that so far, they have been playing into the smoking man’s hand and dancing to his tune exactly as he must have planned.

“We have to do something, Mulder,” she says after mulling over it for a moment. “Our friends could be in greater danger than we have thought.”

Mulder nods. "How's the report?"

"Almost ready to print," Scully replies, typing in a few more words.

"Good." Mulder stands up and places his hands on Scully's shoulders. "Let's get it on Skinner's desk and head out."

***

“Okay,” Laura says, pulling off her glasses and tossing them to the coffee table and leaning back in her seat. “I think we have a plan, gentlemen. We take charge, tell him exactly what we want in exchange for the Raptor, and that we want it before Bill shows anyone anything. Are we agreed?”

The two men nod. It’s been decided Laura will do most of the talking, with Bill jumping in on any questions regarding the operation of the Raptor, though of course he won’t give away any specifics until after the cure is administered.

“And I’ll just stand off to the side and look pretty,” Cottle says, standing and reaching for his cigarettes. “Is that it?”

“I think so,” Laura says. “We just need to go to where the Raptor is being stored so Bill can contact Galactica to send someone to pick us up.”

“No doubt we’ll be followed there,” Bill adds. “So, we may as well get the negotiations over at the same time.”

If Laura has her way, there won’t be much negotiating. “I’ll call Dr. Scully and Mr. Mulder and see about taking us to the Raptor.” She picks up the tiny communications device the agents left for them.

“You may want to wait on that until we’ve shown you what we’ve found,” Mulder says from the doorway.

Laura looks at him and then at the comm in her hand, wondering how it is that just thinking about using it always seems to summon their hosts. She sets the device down carefully, giving it one more trepidatious look before turning her eyes back to Mulder, who she now sees is holding a file in his hand.

“Did you bring us more mysterious files about our ancestors, Mr. Mulder?” she asks with a hint of sarcasm, looking at him over the rims of her glasses.

“Not this time,” Mulder replies, matching her tone. “But I bet the contents will interest you.” He opens the file as he speaks and pulls out a grainy photograph.

“What is it?” Bill joins in, stepping towards Mulder.

Mulder hands the photograph over to him. “An interesting shot from our weekly meteorological data,” he replies. “These pictures are taken by one of our outermost satellites and...well, maybe you should look for yourself.”

Bill takes the photograph and gives it a cursory glance, and at first there seems to be nothing unusual about the image. He glances at Mulder, eyes questioning, but the younger man only motions for him to look again. When he does, he sees it almost instantly, all colour draining from his face.

WIthout a word, he hands the picture over to Laura.

She accepts it and holds it up in front of her, examining it first with her glasses on and then without. “I give up,” she says at last. “What am I looking at?”

Bill reaches across and taps a corner of the image. “You’re looking at us, at Galactica. Right there.”

Laura’s mouth falls open. “Gods,” she breathes, jumping right to the end of everyone's train of thought. “They don’t just want the Raptor. They know about the fleet.”

“Maybe not the whole fleet,” Mulder clarifies. “Depending on the technology the Syndicate has at their disposal, the fleet may still have been too small to see, but I now believe they know about Galactica.”

“And that’s bad enough,” Bill says. “Frak!” He stalks over to the window, slamming his large fist down on the sill. “We fell back too late.”

Laura watches him, knowing he’s probably blaming himself. But there’s more than enough blame to go around. Mr. Gaeta for failing to notice on long range DRADIS that the planet was inhabited. Starbuck and Apollo for kidnapping two of its inhabitants. Herself, for not shutting down the foolish notion of receiving treatment on the planet. They could have been thousands of light years away by now. But none of that matters at the moment.

“What are we going to do, Bill?” she asks gently. She already has an answer in mind, but she needs to know he agrees. More importantly,  _ he _ needs to know he agrees.

Bill paces the room for a moment, cursing himself for every mistake he has made so far. How could he have been so careless? That they had approached hundreds of uninhabited planets before in search of resources, without finding anything or encountering anyone, should have been no excuse to grow sloppy.

“They’re not going to let us just leave, are they?” he says after a while, directing his words at no one in particular.

“Probably not,” Mulder replies. “Seeing as how closely they’ve been watching you. I’m sure the warehouse will be under surveillance too.”

“Never thought I’d say this of a fellow smoker, but I’m getting tired of this cigarette fellow,” Doctor Cottle says, flipping his cigarette lighter between his fingers and then pausing for a moment as everyone turns to look at him. “If anyone is interested in my opinion,” he continues after a beat, “I think we should take what we can from him and give nothing in return. Let his greed be his downfall.”

Bill pauses his pacing. He looks from Cottle to Laura at the same moment Laura's eyes turn to him.

She lifts an eyebrow, the minute change in expression enough to convey her approval of the doctor’s idea.

But Bill just shakes his head. “No. It’s too dangerous. We need to contact the fleet and tell them to vacate the system without us. Then I’ll render the Raptor inoperable. They’ll be safe then.”

Laura walks over and plants herself in front of him, hands on her hips. “Lee and Kara will never leave without you, Bill. Never. You know that as well as I do.”

“They frakking well will if I order them to,” he growls, taking a step closer to her.

She wants to scream at his bullheadedness. “No. They won’t. Godsdamnit Bill, they would be down here mounting a rescue operation before you even ended the transmission, putting themselves and the rest of the fleet in even more danger. You know that. You know I’m right.”

“My son is a soldier. He’ll do as he’s ordered.”

Laura throws up her arms, then walks a few steps away, burying her face in her hands. 


	20. Chapter 20

Mulder and Scully look at each other, and then at Dr. Cottle, who sighs noiselessly, and gestures at the door to the apartment.

“We’re only in the way in there,” he explains when all three of them are out in the hall. “The President is right, of course, but the old man can be a tough sell when he decides he needs to martyr himself.”

Inside the apartment, Laura waits until the door is closed and she can hear the retreating footsteps of their friends. Then she looks at Bill and waits a few more beats to give him some time to consider.

“You know I’m right, Bill,” she says finally.

“It’s a military decision,” he says flatly, apparently so determined on his position that he wants to shut down all further conversation.

Laura lets out an audible sigh. “That’s bullshit, Bill,” she responds. “This concerns much more than just the military.”

“This concerns the Raptor and Galactica. Both are military assets,” Bill points out

“Now you’re just being deliberately obtuse,” Laura says, her growing frustration seeping into her voice. “What about the President of the Twelve Colonies being stranded on a foreign planet, hmm? What about our only doctor? What about the safety of the entire fleet? This is not a military decision.”

BIll has no answer. He looks down at his hands, his jaw clenched.

Laura decides to press on. “You know I’m right about Lee and Kara,” she continues in a gentler tone. “If the situations were reversed - if they were here on this planet and we were up there - and Lee told you to leave them behind, would you leave?” She pauses for a beat. “Would you even listen to his reasoning before going after him?”

Laura can tell from Bill’s prolonged silence that he knows her to be right even though he’s not yet ready to admit it. Instead of pressing him further, she stands up from the couch and walks over to the window, giving him a little more space.

She pushes aside the curtain. As expected, the now ubiquitous black SUV is parked on the street a little bit down from Scully’s apartment building. They’re not even trying to be discreet, probably hoping that inducing a little anxiety will prevent them from thinking things through. _They have no idea who they’re dealing with_ , she thinks with a twisted smile.

Behind her she hears Bill settle onto the sofa with a heavy exhalation. She turns to find him folded over with his head in his hands. Forcing down her exasperation, she walks over and sits beside him, resting a hand on his broad back.

“Talk to me, Bill,” she says gently, gliding her hand back and forth across his back. The amount of responsibility the man willingly carries on his shoulders, day in and day out, would have crushed a lesser man a long time ago. The least she can do is be patient when it threatens to overwhelm him. He’ll come around.

He turns his head, expression sombre. “I should have listened to you. We never should have come here. I was being selfish.”

She laughs, though nothing of this is funny, because it’s such a Bill thing to say. “Wanting me to live was selfish?”

His lips twitch, and under her hand, his tension eases, just a little bit. “Well, maybe not entirely. But yeah. I don’t know how I could do this without you.”

It’s emotional blackmail, and she hates herself just a little for stooping to it, but they’re running out of time. She’ll make it up to him later. After all, it’s not like she doesn’t feel the same way. “Bill, if we go through with this plan, you’ll never have to find out.”

Even as she speaks, she can feel the muscles on Bill’s back stiffen for a moment and then relax as he slowly exhales.

“Laura…” he rasps, turning to look at her with a pained expression.

With some effort, Laura returns his gaze with a reassuring smile. No matter what means she has to employ, she knows they simply cannot afford not to be on the same page now.

“Let’s leave this place, Bill,” she says soothingly, giving his back a few gentle strokes before running her hand further up his spine. When she reaches the nape of his neck, she pauses for a beat and then threads her fingers into the hair at the base of his skull. “Let’s take what we can from these people and then go find our own Earth,” she whispers, leaning a little closer. “This one doesn’t belong to us. It never did.”

Bill makes a noncommittal sound as he leans his head back towards Laura’s touch and closes his eyes for a moment, taking at first one deep breath and then another.

“I’m tired of all this,” he sighs at last, cracking his eyes open enough to see Laura.

She looks at him for a moment and then hums her agreement. “Me too, believe me,” she replies, letting her hand slide away from Bill’s neck. “And I know sending the fleet away may sound like an easy solution, like a way out, but it’s not, Bill."

Bill hums but says nothing.

"Even assuming that Lee and Kara accepted your orders and left us behind, we’d never find peace here," Laura continues. "This Syndicate, or whatever they call themselves, would never let us be. We'd still be running and hiding. And besides,” she pauses and gives Bill a nudge and a smile, “the fleet still needs us, Admiral.”

***

Bill and Laura find the others sitting on the back steps leading to the parking lot. “We’re ready to go,” Laura announces as the door to the building bangs closed behind them.

Mulder and Scully exchange relieved glances. They hadn’t really wanted to consider what might happen if Admiral and the President had been unable to come to a consensus.

“And do what?” the doctor asks irritably, but when Scully looks over to him, he winks at her and inclines his head toward Laura, as if placing his bet on the winner.

“And take the bastard for whatever we can get,” Bill growls.

***

As expected, they pick up a tail soon after they leave Scully’s apartment parking lot, and Mulder has a bit of fun leading the black SUV aimlessly around the city while the five of them talk through what’s to come.

“We don’t do anything until the President has been cured,” Bill states emphatically. “I’ll tell him that’s non-negotiable. Only when her scans are clear will I provide a demonstration on how to operate the Raptor.”

“But you intend to double cross him?” Scully asks.

“Yes.” Laura picks up the narrative, explaining the plan she and Bill had come up with at the apartment. It begins similarly to the negotiation they originally planned, but now, with the knowledge that the smoking man no doubt intends to reach Galactica, it ends in a much different place.

Mulder and Scully’s eyes meet in the rearview mirror. Mulder clears his throat. “With all due respect, ma’am, you don’t actually think it will be that easy, do you?”

“Easy?” Laura asks, raising her eyebrow. Then her lips curve into a slight smile as she looks at Mulder in the rearview mirror. “Mr. Mulder, I can assure you that our whole journey here has been everything but easy. Lies and deception are what we have had to deal with almost every day since we fled from the Colonies.”

“The President is right,” Bill joins in. “I think if we have learnt anything from the past, it’s that you can never prepare for every possible outcome. The other side never plays by the rules you imagine for them.”

He pauses to look at Laura whose face softens as their eyes meet. They both know that if something goes wrong, Bill is likely to be the first one to pay the price, either by having to sacrifice himself to keep the Syndicate from getting the Raptor, or be caught trying.

“I haven’t served in the military for over forty years without learning to think on my feet,” Bill continues in a reassuring tone, addressing his words more to Laura than their companions. Then he turns back to Mulder. “And these people haven’t met the President yet,” he adds with a slight smirk. “They might think they know what they’re dealing with, but they don’t.”

Mulder’s eyes in the rearview mirror drift to Scully again and she nods. It seems their guests have things under control.

“Is there anything we can do?” she offers anyway. “We would be happy to help in any way we can. After all, we got you into this mess in the first place.”

“We got ourselves into this mess,” Bill says hesitantly. “And you two have to continue to live here after we’re gone. We don’t want to make that more difficult for you.”

Mulder laughs humorlessly. “Believe me, Admiral, nothing you do is going to cause us any more difficulty with these people than we already have. In fact, if you pull this off, I’ll be in the front row applauding. Anyone who can stick it to that son of a bitch is someone I would help with my last dying breath.”

“Not that it will come to that,” Scully hastens to add. “But the sentiment stands.”

Laura glances at Bill, who nods. “Bill is right; you’ve already gone above and beyond in helping out a group of strangers,” she says, “and we will completely understand if you don’t want to take it any further, but yes. There is something more you can do.”

“Name it,” Mulder says.

So Laura does.

***

By the time they reach the warehouse on the outskirts of town, their tail has given up even the pretense of following them at a discreet distance. The two cars pull up in front of the building at the exact same time and, unsurprisingly, the man with the cigarettes steps out of the black SUV while the others pile unceremoniously out of Mulder’s packed car.

As they take their time to get out and gather on one side of the car, the man lights up and watches them with an unreadable expression.

“Nice of you to join us,” Bill says gruffly as he straightens his back.

The man takes a draw on his cigarette and says nothing.

“If we had known you were coming the same way we could have carpooled,” Mulder quips, a hint of challenge in his voice.

The man smiles an unpleasant smile. “I can see your car was already quite...full,” he says silkily. Then his eyes turn to Laura and for a moment he is unable to hide his blatant interest. He continues to look at her as he brings his cigarette up to his lips again, inhales a lungful and, after a heavy pause, puffs out the smoke.

“I don’t believe we have met,” he says at last. “Ms...Roslin, is it?”

Laura struggles to contain a shudder by focusing on the positive. Ms Roslin, he called her, not President Roslin. He strikes her as the type of man who would try to shock her with the extent of his knowledge as a way of establishing the upper hand. No, he doesn’t know who she is, not really. To him she’s just a cancer patient, albeit one from another world. Which means, hopefully, that he doesn’t know about the entirety of the fleet.

“That’s right,” she says, stepping forward and extending her hand. She wants to slide into her ice queen persona, the one she uses for interrogating prisoners and controlling unruly quorum members, but she refrains. More flies with honey, she reminds herself. “Call me, Laura.” She allows just a hint of irreverence to enter her voice. “I understand you have something that might interest me.” If she can charm him, maybe it will make him careless. They don’t have many advantages here; she’ll take whatever ones she can, even if the thought makes her queasy.

“Perhaps,” the man allows with a greasy smile. “If your...friend...the Admiral will agree to my terms.”

Bill takes his cue and steps up to stand slightly behind and to her left. “We have some terms of our own,” he growls.

The smoking man chortles. “Is that so? And what makes you think this is a negotiation?”

Discretely, Laura reaches back and touches Bill’s hand, an unspoken reminder that she is to do the talking. “You seem like a reasonable man,” she says, somehow managing to not choke on the words. “And our needs are simple.”

The man raises his eyebrows, his mouth twitching a little. “Is that so?”

Laura pretends to hesitate a moment, not wishing to appear too assertive. “Well, sir,” she starts and pauses to glance at Bill who gives her an encouraging nod, playing his part admirably. “You see, we will be in quite a predicament if we give you our only mode of transport,” Laura continues. “You must understand that this is by no means a small concession for us and even though I value my health, I could never consent to this plan if I knew it was to benefit only myself at the cost of my friends.”

She pauses to look at the cigarette smoking man for his reaction, hoping to lead him exactly where she wants him.

After giving her words some time to sink in and produce their effect, she judges it best to continue. “Without our Raptor, we have no way of getting off this planet,” Laura says, allowing her voice to break a little as she speaks. Then she makes a show of pulling herself together and continues in a more commanding tone. “If we are to be stranded here, we need provisions - something to help build our lives here.”

The man still remains silent as he draws on his cigarette again, but as he stands there appraising Laura, there’s a gleam in his eye that tells her he may have swallowed the bait.

Finally, he clears his throat and speaks up. “I see what you mean,” he says with barely contained glee. “I understand your...predicament, as you say, and I may have an even better offer for you.”

Got him.

Unseen by her side, her hand forms a tight quick fist. Then, swallowing her satisfaction, she tilts her head to one side and regards him quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps,” he says, eyes fixed on hers as if they were the only two in the room, “After ownership of the craft has been transferred to me, my men and I could deliver you back to your home. I presume you have some sort of larger transport in orbit?”

He watches her reaction closely, and Laura is careful to allow a bit of surprise to show on her face, enough to suggest that she hadn’t considered he would know about their home ship, but not enough to suggest this is any great mystery.

“Well, yes, we do, of course. How...perceptive...of you.”

Having elicited the response he wanted, the man now turns to Bill, all semblance of faux-geniality fading away. “You will teach us to operate the craft on the way to your ship. We will then leave you there, and return on our own.”

It would never happen, of course. One cannot learn to operate a spacecraft, re-enter the atmosphere, and land safely in such a amount short time. Both parties are aware of the truth; both choose to ignore it for their own purposes.

Bill steps forward until he occupies the other man’s space and looks him directly in the eye. “Your terms are acceptable. Now cure her.”

The man eyes him for a moment and then takes a step back before dumping his cigarette.

“As you wish,” he says silkily, “I knew we could come to terms, as I told you before." He pauses for a beat but when Bill has nothing to say, he continues. "I admire your haste, but surely you would prefer the operation to take place in more sterile conditions? This quaint little warehouse is hardly a suitable place for modern medicine, especially, I'm sure, when it comes to the health of your dear Laura.”

Bill glares at the man, his right hand clenching into a tight fist as he tries to keep himself in check. After all, everything is going exactly according to their plan, which, despite what Bill might have wished, did not involve him strangling this snake of a man to death with his own bare hands. At least not yet.

“She will go to a hospital,” he gnarls. “The same one where Dr. Scully was cured, and both of the doctors will accompany her.” Bill indicates his head towards Scully and Cottle. “I will stay with the Raptor with Agent Mulder and nobody will learn anything if Ms Roslin is not returned to us safely, and fully cured, by the end of the day. Is that clear?”

The man smiles, his face twisting unpleasantly. “Absolutely transparent,” he says then as he lights another cigarette. “And I shall leave my men to keep you company as well. Now, I’m sure you would not dream of leaving without the lovely Ms. Roslin...” He pauses to let his eyes rest on Laura for a moment, making Bill’s skin crawl, “but the stakes are...very high for me as well, so I must see to my interests.”

“And what of our compensation?” Laura asks, having heard enough of this verbal sparring. “We appreciate your kind offer of a ride, but our journey to this planet has been a long one, and the stocks on our mothership could use replenishing before we embark on our equally long return flight.” She forces herself to smile becomingly, grateful for her years in politics, and her more recent experiences with the likes of Tom Zarek, that have prepared her for dealing with sleazy men.

The man turns his attention to a similarly suited man who emerges from the passenger side of the SUV. They speak quietly before the man returns to the SUV and retrieves a fat envelope he then passes to his boss.

“Your needs will be looked after,” he says. “Shall we?” He gestures back toward the vehicle.

With one final, lingering, look at Bill, she crossing the parking lot and wordlessly gets in.


	21. Chapter 21

“It’s been almost twelve hours, where the frak are they?” Bill paces in front of the Raptor, pointedly ignoring the Syndicate men who come to attention every time he passes too close. It’s still his ship, godsdamnit. Let them try and stop him if he decides to board it.

Mulder, having pulled his car into the bay of the warehouse, now sits on the trunk, feet propped up on the bumper. He doesn’t answer the Admiral’s patently rhetorical question, but he’s beginning to wonder the same thing himself. It’s not like Scully to be out of contact for so long. Pulling his cellphone from his suit jacket, he taps in her number and holds the phone to his ear, listening again to the five rings and quick hiccup as it switches to voicemail. He disconnects without leaving a message and pockets the phone.

“I’m going for a walk,” he announces, sliding to the concrete floor. “Don’t worry boys, I won’t go far.” He’s halfway to the large open bay doors when he hears the crunch of wheels on gravel.

Before the car appears from around the last bend, Mulder hears Bill’s hurried footsteps catching up with him. Evidently, he has also heard the sound of the approaching vehicle.

“About frakking time,” the older man mutters as he catches up with Mulder, who silently agrees.

They both stand on the gravel outside and watch as a black SUV appears from behind the bend and slowly draws closer until it pulls up in front of the warehouse. Bill shifts impatiently, ready to bolt towards the car, but Mulder places a steadying hand on his arm and they continue to wait on the spot for a sign of who has joined them. The wait is not long, because almost instantly a door opens and Scully and Cottle pile out first, followed closely by Laura.

Bill exhales audibly and, no longer restrained by Mulder, strides quickly over to the newly arrived trio.

“Is it done?” he asks as soon as he reaches them, almost forgetting the others as his eyes search Laura’s for confirmation. When she returns his look with a tentative nod and a tremulous smile, his features instantly relax and he looks relieved as his hand reaches to brush Laura’s cheek.

“Did it really work?” he rasps.

“That’s what they tell me,” Laura replies, her hand instinctively traveling to the back of her neck - the knowledge of the presence of the chip leaving her smile a little strained.

“We ran all possible scans we could think of,” Scully cuts in. “It kept us a little longer than we had originally thought, but both Dr. Cottle and I wanted to make use of all the available equipment to make sure the cancer is completely gone.”

“And…?” Bill asks expectantly, looking from Scully to Cottle.

“All scans completely clear,” Cottle replies triumphantly. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he adds with suitable awe as one of the men who had accompanied them to the hospital walks past him just then. The statement, of course, is not strictly true, but Cottle judges it best not to bring up the restorative qualities of the blood from a human-Cylon embryo that he has also witnessed first hand.

“I’m sorry to interrupt this heartwarming reunion,” the smoking man says, appearing behind Bill’s left shoulder as if from nowhere, “But as you’ve heard, I’ve lived up to my end of our agreement. It’s time you live up to yours.”

Reluctantly, Bill turns away from Laura. “You wanna do this now?” he growls.

“What better time?”

Bill nods brusquely. That’s fine with him. Cancer or no cancer, Laura looks exhausted and the sooner they’re back home and away from this ridiculously melodramatic planet the better. “Fine. Everyone out of the way.”

He starts walking toward the Raptor, then stops and stabs a finger towards the open bay door when the other man begins to follow. “No,” he barks. “You want me to thread that needle without damaging the ship, you stay the hell away from me until I get her set down outside in the clear.”

“Fine,” the man says, then jerks his head at one of his associates. Before anyone can react, the other man has a gun trained on Laura’s head.

Chaos suddenly reigns. Bill snarls and practically leaps forward, a weapon of his own produced from nowhere and pointed at the gunman. Mulder grabs his free arm in a desperate attempt to hold him back. Eric, sworn to serve and protect his president, also pulls a gun, only he trains his on the smoking man himself, stalking forward menacingly until he has the older man pinned, his back against the SUV.

“Bill, Eric, stand down!” Laura commands, raising her hands slowly.

When neither of the men immediately moves, she looks pointedly at Bill and continues: “These men delivered their end of the deal, and now we must as well.”

Bill glowers for a moment, but then finally lowers his weapon, his eyes moving from the man still pointing his gun at Laura to the smoking man.

“If you harm her, you will never see this Raptor again, or you’ll have to kill me trying to stop me,” he growls, looking at the man. Then he gives Eric a curt nod, signaling him to stand down as well, and turns to walk towards the warehouse without waiting for anyone’s response.

As Bill disappears into the building, a silence falls for a moment and all eyes turn to the warehouse where they expect the Raptor to soon emerge from. Mulder uses the opportunity to approach Scully and pull her aside.

“Everything go as planned?” he asks.

Scully nods. “She’ll need some rest and vitamins to recover fully but she’ll be perfectly fine,” she replies. “And I did some shopping while Laura was resting. The Syndicate’s money was put to good use.”

Mulder says nothing, but nods in satisfaction. After a moment he asks in a whisper. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Good. The rest is up to our friends then. May the Lords of Kobol be with them.”

Scully frowns. “The what now?”

“I’ll explain later,” Mulder grins. “Look,” he points at the large doors of the warehouse opening. “Here it comes now.”

The Raptor hovers indecisively for a moment, a mere two feet from the ground, then slowly glides through the bay door with no more than a few inches clearance on either side.

Mulder whistles lowly. “Man is one _hell_ of a pilot,” he says to Scully. “Look at that; he’s dead centre in that doorway.”

As everyone watches with bated breath, the spacecraft slowly and steadily clears the doorframe, then ascends just enough to miss the cars in the small parking area, and lands gently on ragged patch of grass beyond.

The hatch opens of its own accord, leaving a glowing rectangle on the otherwise dark expanse which is soon filled by Bill’s solid form. Ignoring the smoking man's expectant gaze, he jumps down and walks over to where Laura stands, still being held at gunpoint. “Lower your weapon,” he growls at the gunman, as he offers Laura his arm.

From a distance deemed safe from Eric’s barely contained fury, the smoking man nods his consent and his associate steps back, his arm falling to his side. “I suggest you and your…enforcer…also relieve yourselves of your weapons,” he adds, rolling a lit cigarette around between thumb and finger. “Perhaps you would like to donate them to our cause along with your little ship.”

Laura squeezes Bill’s arm, anticipating his angry response. “We would prefer to keep our weapons – we have a limited supply, you understand, but we will disable and pack them with the supplies you’ve kindly provided.”

In response, the man simply gestures at his associates. Two of them approach, one holding out his hands for Bill and Eric’s guns, the other patting the two men down, ensuring they’re fully disarmed.

“What about him?” The second associate points, indicating Dr. Cottle.

“Him is a doctor, not a soldier,” Cottle says amiably, opening his white coat wide and turning in a slow circle to demonstrate his unarmed status.

“Check him,” the smoking man commands, with a limp wave of his hand,

Cottle shrugs. “It’s your dime,” he says, allowing himself to be patted down.

“And her?” the associate asks when he’s done with the doctor, taking a step in Laura’s direction, prurient interest written across his blunt, ugly features.

The smoking man waves him off. “I will check the lovely Ms Roslin personally.”.

Fists clenched, Bill approaches quickly, but Laura heads him off with a steely look. If it means getting off this godsdamned planet even a moment faster, she’ll grit her teeth and submit to whatever groping is necessary. Leaving her eyes locked on Bill’s she raises her arms as the man pats her down, thankfully without much in the way of unnecessary lingering.

“Unload and pack their weapons in the hold,” he snaps at his men when he’s finished.

“He really is eager to get going,” Mulder, still standing at some distance away from the action, whispers to his partner.

“That should play to their advantage,” Scully agrees in the same hushed tone, her eyes turning from the doctor to Bill and Laura. “Come,” she then adds in her normal voice. “I think it’s time to go bid our friends goodbye. Those people have almost finished loading the cargo I bought.”

Mulder nods in agreement and they take off towards their guests, but they have barely started walking when one of the smoking man’s goons finally registers their presence and immediately strides towards them.

“We’re just going to say goodbye to our friends,” Scully says, holding her hands up, open palms facing the stocky man who is eyeing them suspiciously.

Mulder, presenting an innocent smile, holds up his hands likewise. “We promise not to get too close for your comfort,” he promises. Then, approaching Bill, he extends his hand. “It was an honour to meet you, sir,” he says sincerely. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He allows his eyes to shift briefly to Laura and back again. “Safe travels.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mulder,” Bill steps forward and reaches out to shake his hand, his opposite hand rising to clasp the younger man’s upper arm. His mouth forms one more word, but he doesn’t give it voice. “Ready?”

Mulder only winks in response.

Meanwhile, Laura has pulled Scully into a tight hug. “Thank you Dr. Scully. I quite literally owe you my life. Believe me when I say I won’t ever forget that.”

“It was my pleasure,” Scully tells her as they complete their hug and stand with their hands clasped together between them. “Enjoy the rest of your very, very long life.”

“You as well, Dr. Scully.” She looks meaningfully towards the men beside them. “Every aspect of it.”

Scully can feel her cheeks redden. She and Mulder, they aren’t like that, not meant for each other in the same way the Admiral and the President clearly are. But maybe someday…

“If you all are quite done with your maudlin display,” the smoking man calls out in irritation, “We have a journey to commence.”

“Yes, quite done,” Mulder replies, yet turning to Eric and Dr. Cottle as he speaks. “It was a pleasure to meet you both,” he says, shaking the hand of each and then stepping back a little as Scully gives Eric a nod and then turns to Cottle. She goes for a handshake, but the old doctor pulls her in for a tight hug instead.

“Thank you, for everything,” he says hoarsely.

Scully, who has really grown quite fond of the chain smoking physician, swallows and nods, knowing he can feel the movement of her head even though he can’t see it.

“You ready?” she then whispers into his ear, using their proximity to exchange a few quiet words.

“Locked and loaded,” Cottle replies simply.

Scully nods again and then, wishing him a safe journey so that everyone can hear, pulls out of the hug and blinks rapidly as she steps back.

“What happens on Earth stays on Earth,” Cottle mutters as he turns to face Bill's amused grin and his raised eyebrow at such an unexpected display of affection from the grumpy old doctor.

"If you say so," Bill replies. It's an altogether creditable display of easy banter that, though unplanned, seems to work in their favour by further annoying and distracting the smoking man.

Laura, observing that their moment has come, finally turns to the said man with a tight smile. “Now we are quite done,” she says calmly and starts walking towards the Raptor with Bill in tow.

Dr. Cottle remains a few steps behind, pausing to shrug at the smoking man as he passes, as if to apologize for the delay he has caused. “Don’t worry, you’ve picked a lovely night for it,” he says as he sees from the corner of his eye that Bill and Laura have reached the Raptor. “We’ll be there in no time.”

He then gives Mulder one more nod, signalling him to be ready, and follows Bill, Laura and Eric into the Raptor.


	22. Chapter 22

“Stay here,” Bill mouths to Laura as she settles into the seat furthest from the cockpit. She nods readily, having no intention of getting in anyone’s way. At a jerk of Bill’s head, Eric takes the ECO seat just in front of her. He’s prepared, they all know, to shield her bodily if it becomes necessary. She prays it doesn’t come to that.

Cottle takes the seat beside Laura, clasping his hands over his ample stomach and leaning his head back against the seat, prepared, by all outward appearances, to take a nap as soon as they take off.

The smoking man is the last to enter. He pauses momentarily in the hatchway, eyes wide as he takes in the glowing interior of the craft. Then, without acknowledging any of them, he follows Bill to the cockpit.

What he does not see is the first of his men, about to climb into the Raptor after him, being knocked in the back of the head with the butt of Mulder’s gun. At the same time, the doctor quickly stands and walks to the open hatch, just in time to reach down and pick up the revolver Scully slides across the wing.

To drown out the rising sounds of skirmish outside, Bill starts the noisy engines immediately upon taking his seat, then throws a sideways glance at the man on his right. “I suggest you pay attention,” he says flatly. “You frak any of this up, you’re dead and I’ve lost a ship for nothing.”

Briefly, he goes through the functions of the various instrumentation, giving just enough of the truth to make his lies sound logical **,** while surreptitiously preparing for a swift takeoff. It’s a dangerous game of obfuscation as the last thing he wants is to inadvertently give this man any true understanding of faster-than-light travel, or have him suspect that they intend to depart without any extra company.

“Ready?” he asks, having finished his bullshit introduction to flight.

“Yes,” the man says impatiently. “Get on with....” Before he can finish his sentence, the unmistakable sound of a large vehicle moving outside, capable of being heard even over the rising roar of the engines, freezes the words on his lips. “What the…” He whips his head around to bark a command at one of his men, but finds only Dr. Cottle standing in the doorway, pointing a gun at him.

Bill suppresses a smile, pulling one more lever which lifts the Raptor smoothly off the ground.

“I’m afraid all your men are otherwise engaged,” he says, pointing towards the viewscreen.

Outside, chaos had reigned for a short time following Mulder’s initial intrusion, but had been settled to the FBI agents’ advantage following the arrival of the Lone Gunmen. The well-timed charge of their flatbed truck had succeeded in subduing the smoking man’s associates, and by the time he looks outside, he can see all three of his men surrounded, unable to come to his aid.

"Jump," Cottle tells him now, as they stand in the open hatchway.

"I beg your pardon. We're ten feet in the air." Even with a gun pointed at his back, he manages to sound condescending. 

“Unless you want to wait until we reach our ship and find out what use this lady here,” he nods his head towards Laura, “has found for airlocks, I suggest you jump.”

When the man still looks unconvinced, almost as if some part of him still believes he can turn everything around to his favour if given enough time, Cottle continues impatiently. “Look fella, it’s either a few fractures and a bruised ego or the vacuum of space for you, so don’t make this more difficult than it is. Hop along before the Old Man grows tired of waiting.”

The smoking man’s lips curl in distaste as he looks from the ground to Cottle and then to Laura, whose icy stare promises no lenience. 

“Fine,” he says, begrudgingly admitting defeat and looking for the first time quite pale as his eyes dart again towards the ground. “A-any chance of going a little lower?”

“I suggest you just jump,” Laura says, her voice low as she looks at the man with unbridled disgust.

It seems to convince him not to try her patience any further.

“Very well,” he says, judging it best at last to cut his losses the only way he sees available to him. “Perhaps we will meet again,” he says, managing still something of a sly smile just before he throws himself off the hovering craft.

The next thing they hear, only seconds later, is a cry of pain as he hits the ground with a thud.

“Good riddance,” the doctor mutters as he removes all bullets from the gun and then throws it out towards Scully on the ground. ”That should save her some paperwork,” he says in response to Laura’s knowing smile as he passes her on his way towards the cockpit.

***

Scully watches as the hatch of the Raptor slowly rises, then seals with a hiss that’s inaudible compared to the noise of the engines. The small craft then turns ninety degrees in midair until she can see the outlines of Admiral Adama and Dr. Cottle through the viewscreen. She lifts a hand in a final goodbye.

The nose of the ship bobs a couple of times in place, a farewell of its own, then starts to rise, quickly gaining altitude in the night sky until, all at once, it’s no longer distinguishable from the stars around it.

Beside her, Mulder’s arm falls back to his side. “I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote. I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts,” he quotes quietly, before turning back to Scully.  “What should we do with them?” he asks, gesturing between Cancerman, who is currently lying on the ground moaning and clutching his knee, and the three goons being held at bay by the Lone Gunmen.

Scully sighs heavily. “I should probably check him out.” Mulder rolls his eyes at her misguided sense of professional ethics, but reaches out and gives her shoulder a sympathetic squeeze all the same. 

Pausing to pick up her now unloaded gun from the ground where Cottle had tossed it, she returns it to its holster as she approaches the injured man. Before she comes within six feet of him, he lifts his head to glare at her.

“Do…not…touch…me,” He practically spits the words at her, each one more laden with fury than the last. “Leave me to my men.”

Scully merely shrugs, her personal standards met by extending the offer. “Fine by me. Let’s go, Mulder.”

Mulder motions to the Gunmen to let the goons go, and as one, they rush to the side of their leader. With one man on either side and one behind, they ease him gingerly to his feet. 

“You’ll come to regret your interference in this matter, have no doubt of that, Agent Mulder,” he sneers, eyes burning bright against his ashen skin.

Mulder shrugs. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not feeling particularly intimidated by a man who can’t even stand upright and looks like he’s about to pass out.” 

“Come on, Mulder.” Scully nudges her partner before the smoking man can respond. “We’re done here. Let’s leave him to his own misery.”

Mulder nods, but his eyes still linger on the other man who, likewise, is still glaring back at him.

“You should listen to the lady,” he says, doing his best to hide a grimace of pain. “This warehouse and everything in it is now government property.” His eyes dart briefly to the Gunmen and he smiles unpleasantly when he turns back to Mulder. “I recommend you take the trash out as you go.”

“Trash?” Frohike exclaims, looking round at this friends. “Did he just call us trash?”

“I believe he did,” Byers says, nodding gravely.

“And yet he’s the one being supported by black suits who couldn’t even keep a few geeks at bay,” Langley remarks as they all nod in agreement, deciding the man with delusions of grandeur is not worth their time.

“We can take ourselves out,” Frohike huffs in conclusion as they walk past the smoking man and his associates,”which is more than can be said about you,” he adds under his breath.

“Let’s go,” Scully says, pulling Mulder with her, ready to follow the Gunmen. 

***

“No. Absolutely not,” Dr. Cottle proclaims upon hearing Laura request a transport to Colonial One from the traffic officer on duty. They had arrived back on Galactica just minutes earlier and all four travellers had readily agreed that any and all briefings could wait until morning. “I’m not stupid, you know. If I let you out of my sight, you’ll be trying to catch up on your work instead of resting. There is a bed in Life Station with your name on it, young lady. I’m not ready to trust that frakker’s cure quite yet.”

Laura’s spine stiffens and her eyes flash, her visible fatigue evaporating on the spot. When she speaks, her tone is adorned with icicles. “Doctor, perhaps the forced familiarity of the last number of days have caused you to forget your place. I  _ will  _ be returning to my own quarters, and…”

“Might I suggest a compromise,” Bill interjects hastily, holding up a cautionary hand. “The President can sleep in my quarters. She’ll get more rest there than she would in Life Station, or…” He cuts off an objection from Laura with a fearsome look of his own. “Or than she would on Colonial One. And she’ll be nearby to help if anything unexpected occurs.”

The doctor shrugs, secretly pleased by Bill’s solution. “Fine by me,” he says, lighting a cigarette and inhaling heavily. They still don’t taste quite right, flavoured as the are now by the memory of another chain-smoking man. He raises an eyebrow to his patient.

“Fine,” Laura snaps. Spending the night in the relative luxury of Bill’s quarters actually sounds quite wonderful, but she’ll be damned if she’ll let the doctor know that.

Bill, though he’s face would have revealed little to any random observer, looks happy with the decision as he nods his head.

“You go ahead and get settled,” he says, touching Laura’s elbow as he leans a little closer - a clear signal to Cottle that he is no longer needed. “I’ll check in on the CIC to get a status report and see how soon we can make a jump. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“Should I…” Laura starts, but Bill interrupts her before she can finish her offer to join him.

“We can go through the full report in my quarters later,” he says calmly, but with a look that invites no counter arguments.

For a moment Laura looks like she might still want to argue but, meeting Bill’s unwavering gaze, she lets out a sigh and admits defeat.

“You won’t get rid of me as easily after I’ve had the rest the doctor prescribed,” she reminds Bill as she takes his offered arm, knowing without asking that he fully intends to walk her to his quarters before taking off for the CIC.

Bill harrumphs at her words, but there is no hiding the smile that breaks on his face as he glances sideways at Laura.

“I’m counting on it,” he simply says, placing his free hand over hers and giving it a warm squeeze. “I’m counting on it,” he repeats with feeling.


	23. Chapter 23

“I wonder how they’re doing,” Mulder says from nowhere, tossing a sharpened pencil towards the ceiling, where it joins a dozen or so of its brethren.

Scully hardly needs ask to whom he’s referring. Though several weeks have passed, the citizens of The Twelve Colonies are rarely far from her mind either. She sighs. “I don’t know, Mulder, and we probably never will, so it’s best if just put the whole experience out of our minds.”

Easy for her to say, not so easy to do. She feels an odd sort of kinship with the three travellers who had stayed in her apartment for a short time, particularly Laura Roslin, for as far as she knows, she and the President are the only two people to have been cured of cancer through alien technology. It’s a strong bond to break.

Mulder shrugs and straightens up in his seat, rolling his chair over to where she’s working on the computer. “What are you typing so furiously, anyway? We haven’t had a case since before they were here.

“Nothing,” she says, setting her foot against the leg of his chair in an attempt to push him back where he came from. Before she can, he plants his feet on the floor and leans in close.

“They determined that sometime during the intervening years, the Cylons had developed the technology to imitate human form,” he reads aloud as Scully takes hold of the arm of his chair with both hands and pushes futilely with all her might.

“Why Scully,” he exclaims with a mix of pride and incredulity. “Are you creating an X-file on our friends?”

Scully rolls her eyes. “If that’s what you want to call it,” she replies, letting go of Mulder’s chair as she leans back, resigned, to allow him a better view.

She waits for a while as he skims through the text, occasionally reading snippets of it out loud, until he reaches the last line.

“It’s not much but it’s all we can do,” Scully sighs, contemplating the screen before her for a moment in silence. ”Think about it, Mulder.” She then turns to her partner. “What if they never find the home they’re looking for? Who will remember them? Those other files that exist are full of details about their technology, even some about their biology, but it’s all clinical. There’s nothing in them about the people, not really.”

As she speaks, she feels Mulder’s hand land on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“I know what you mean,” he says, all teasing gone from his voice. “I wonder what will become of them?”

“Well,” Scully says slowly. “I’ve never met two more tireless, driven, passionate...stubborn people than President Roslin and Admiral Adama. So, if I were a betting woman, I sure as hell wouldn’t bet against them.”

Mulder’s hand fall from her shoulder as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “So you think they’ll find their Earth?”

“I think if anyone can lead that fleet where they need to go, it’s those two.”

Mulder nods thoughtfully. “I hope you’re right. You know, I had some time to talk to the Admiral while you were off curing the President. He tries to downplay it, but god Scully, he loves her. All he really wants to do with his life, if he ever gets a chance to live it, is build her a cabin. On a lake, with…”

Scully smiles and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds. “With water so clear it’s like looking through glass,” she finishes.

Mulder raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smile.

“I had a moment to spend with the President, too, before and after the operation,” Scully answers his unspoken question. “She was...quite candid while the drugs were still wearing off and I was left in no doubt that the love is mutual.” She pauses for a moment, eyes glazing over as her mind conjures up images of lakes and cabins and lofty mountains, pristine lands untouched by human hands.

She can easily picture the President and the Admiral together in their cabin, less careworn, more relaxed than she ever had a chance to see them. Perhaps she could even picture herself and...Scully blinks, immediately pulling breaks on that line of thought. Instinctively she glances at Mulder, half expecting to find a teasing smirk on his face, but meets only a wistful look that probably mirrors her own.

“It’s not a shabby dream to have,” he says at last, still lost in thought, his eyes resting, but not quite focused, on his old poster with the words " _I want to believe_ " printed on it.

“No, it’s not,” Scully agrees with a sigh. "I'm sure we could all do with simpler dreams."

Neither of them says more as they both sit in quiet contemplation for a moment until Mulder abruptly shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Hey, who do you suppose left us all those files anyway?”

Scully blinks, her mouth falling open. “I don’t know. I guess I still assumed it was the cigarette smoking man, even after we didn’t find a bug. But why would he do anything that might tip us off to the fact that he knew more than we thought? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“He wouldn’t,” Mulder agrees. “It has to have been someone else. Possibly someone trying to help us and our foreign friends, but who, Scully? Who else would have known about them?”

Scully has no answer to give him, so she simply shakes her head and remains silent. They don’t stir again until the ringing of Mulder’s cell phone breaks them out of their individual reveries.

“Shoot,” Mulder mutters as he looks at the screen of his cell. “Skinner.”

Scully offers up a half-smile. “Well, back to work,” she says, standing up in preparation for the anticipated summons to Skinner’s office.

He points a finger in the air and swirls it around in sarcastic celebration as he accepts the call. “Mulder.”

***  
At the same time, several miles away, another phone is ringing. The man walks along a curving gravel path winding its way towards a small duck pond in a park in the middle of the city. He presses a button and lifts his phone to his ear, but he does not speak.

“I’m disappointed,” a low, feminine voice says in his ear. “I had such high hopes for our arrangement, Mr. Busch.” Her tone holds more teasing than true disappointment.

He lifts a cigarette, held between thumb and forefinger, to his lips and inhales deeply before he replies. “You must be patient, my dear. I do still have a few tricks up my sleeve.” As he moves his hand away from his mouth, his fingers tremble just a little.

Her response comes to him on a gust of throaty laughter. “Such optimism for an inhabitant of such a backwards little planet. You don’t even have the technology to track them, and now that you’ve provided them with the cure they were seeking, they have no reason to ever return. No, Mr. Busch, you have failed. It’s over.” She pauses and he finds he’s holding his breath, waiting with a sick mixture of fear and exhilaration to learn what his punishment might be.

“No matter,” she continues, seemingly unconcerned. “Our main goal has been achieved.”

“It has?” he asks. “But I failed to secure control of the Galactica.”

Another tinkle of laughter sends frissons of excitement up and down his spine . “Well of course you did. Do you really think you could succeed where my people have failed? What a silly little primitive you are. But still, I owe you a debt of gratitude for ensuring that microchip was implanted in the neck of Laura Roslin. We won’t forget your service, Mr. Busch.”

He smiles as he tosses his cigarette to the ground and steps on it. “Well. Then as to the matter of my reward,” he begins, slyly.

The phone goes dead in his ear.

On the other side of the pond, just out of his line of sight, a tall blonde woman closes her phone and slides it into her pocket, before turning and disappearing into the midday crowd.


End file.
